


Hope Is Built On Nothing Less

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Canon, Attempted Sexual Assault, Character of Faith, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan is part of the strict Brotherhood, the venerated religion of Northumberland. It is all he has ever known. Then Vikings, led by Jarl Ragnar, arrive to assist Northumberland’s King in repelling an invasion. Athelstan gets to know Ragnar’s family and finds himself pulled in a direction that he never expected. The Vikings aren’t trusted but Athelstan wonders if this has been the Lord’s plan all along, especially when Jarl Ragnar’s price for his assistance in the invasion is Athelstan himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whisper Campaign

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from a Christian worship song. Rating may change. My love and thanks to zoe who listened to me babble about this fic and read through some initial drafts.

 

 

 

The whispers had been growing for some time. Athelstan concentrated on his daily calling – on his devotions and service to the Lord and King Edwin. It was what the Holy Brotherhood meant and what Athelstan was glad to devote his every hour and all his energy to. Of course attending weekly services meant that Athelstan also heard what concerned the servants, the gentry and the King. When he wasn't praying or inking the Lord's words and stories onto precious papers to be bound and read during services and meditations, when he wasn't conducting the holy ceremonies or sat deep in contemplations himself, he thought a little about what he had heard because a Brother was expected to divine wisdom from the Lord and advise King Edwin whenever called upon. Those who did so satisfactorily were well-rewarded.

 

Northumberland was a great kingdom, the Brotherhood were one of its great strengths. They kept the people's minds and gazes on the Lord, only through Him could strength, victory and happiness be achieved. The King knew that, that was why he called on the Brothers so often to bless his actions and decisions, to advise him as he strove to make his kingdom ever greater. Athelstan was glad to witness such faith and victory in the Lord's name. He felt deeply blessed to have grown up in such an atmosphere, to know the Lord so close and see how He loved and guided the King. What a blessing.

 

Athelstan's duties were plentiful but menial, for he was still considered a Novice. He fetched and carried for his Brothers, he helped prepare food and baths, he attended every service and time of prayer and having shown a talent for language and writing, spent much time with paper, quill and ink. The Holy Father had told Athelstan that he still had much to learn but that he showed great devotion and promise. The Lord, said the Holy Father, had blessed Athelstan and that one day perhaps King Edwin would benefit from Athelstan's gifts. Athelstan hoped so, praying for his actions and thoughts to bring him ever closer to what the Lord wanted and to what the King desired. It was what every Brother strived for and what dwelt deeply in Athelstan's heart.

 

Now though, his focus was on what was being so growingly spoken of amongst the residents, servants and visitors to the King's stronghold. A nearby kingdom had been making damaging raids across Northumberland's borders, they were so powerful that Northumberland's warriors had been unable to stop them. They were driven by greed and took what wasn't rightfully theirs. The Holy Father who led the Brotherhood had asked for more prayers to be said for Northumberland's brave warriors and for the King who strove to keep his land whole and blessed. Athelstan had been fervent in his prayers. Of course the Lord was with this land, of course they would triumph.

 

King Edwin had been working towards a solution, he had been discussing working with another ruler, a Jarl who also raided and took what wasn't rightfully his. This was a ruler who lived across the water, who travelled in great swift ships and who was of a people who found great happiness in battle and blood. Athelstan heard the stories;

 

“The savages will seek to lay waste to us, as their gods command them.”

 

“It is said that Ragnar Lothbrok has other...desires.”

 

“A bride, one of the Lord's people, a prize among bought chattel.”

 

“His brother almost killed him. He will try again. That is the Lord's will.”

 

Athelstan shivered; he had heard about Ragnar Lothbrok, he heard many tales of what the man, the jarl from the cold northern islands across the sea, had supposedly done. It was said that he and his people, the Vikings, had slaughtered so many people, that they took from other kingdoms – gold and food and people, that they bathed in blood, that he had married numerous men and women, that Ragnar's brother had almost killed him. People such as Ragnar Lothbrok were not loved by the Lord, nor were their actions. The Lord punished them; it was said that two of Ragnar's sons had borne the Lord's wrath, misshapen as punishment.

 

Yet King Edwin wished to form a bond with this man, this savage, because he would fight for Northumberland and repel the raiders. What would he ask for in return? Athelstan prayed increasingly and lit candles for wisdom and sacrifice in the name of the King.

 

Many people came to pay homage to the King, people of many languages and faiths. Athelstan had learned a little of what he could, all the better to tell those visitors of the Brotherhood's faith, a faith that sustained the King. Athelstan found that he enjoyed grasping other languages, the many ways in which he could pray and offer homage. He had learned some Norse, the language that Jarl Ragnar's people spoke, from a visiting pilgrim. He had told Athelstan much about life in that land, about the importance of working the soil, about how families multiplied with more than one wife or husband, about the many gods who were spoken of every day and sacrificed to, gods who guided them and featured in astonishing vivid stories that couldn't have been true. Athelstan had found such stories confusing but still oddly fascinating, how different many lands within one world could be. It was a fascination that he kept to himself.

 

He had met King Edwin several times and found him an affecting presence, a powerful man confident in how to rule even as invaders pressed hard at his land's borders. He believed that the Lord wished for His people to suffer so that they might be purified and strengthened, as strengthened as the King himself was.

 

King Edwin was absolute and Athelstan bowed before him as he did before the Lord. Now though, people from lands across the great howling waters were coming to England. People who had terrorised and conquered other lands, people who worshipped other gods, people who might help the King repel his land's invaders, for a vaulted price.

 

Could that be the Lord's will? A bell chimed and Athelstan followed his Brothers into the large hall. There were benches and mats for kneeling and there was a large quantity of candles set out in a familiar pattern. It settled Athelstan's heart, even as the Holy Father began to speak.

 

“A great decision weight lies over our King. We must pray for him and for our land.”

 

He began to light the candles. Athelstan focused on the glowing flames and prayed.

 

*

 

The whispers were increasing. Athelstan prayed harder as King Edwin called for more services, meditations and prayers. The battles at the Northumberland’s borders were getting bloodier; more warriors were being plucked away to the Lord’s kingdom. Soon, Jarl Ragnar would arrive.

 

“The Lord is sending us strength and an ally,” the Holy Father intoned. “He will help maintain this kingdom’s greatness.”

 

“He is a heathen!” a Brother called out, unable to keep quiet.

 

The Holy Father nodded, “He is and we have a chance to turn his path to the Lord’s. Think of what he could achieve in the Lord’s name!”

 

Athelstan thought of that as he watched the King pace the floor, receiving reports of how his people and land suffered. This was what Jarl Ragnar caused in other kingdoms, the ones where he did not marry. It was said that he travelled with his brides and his children, it was said that he was loved and worshipped by his people. Athelstan could not fathom such a man. He prayed for the King, for every soul that departed in his name. What would the King give Jarl Ragnar for his assistance? Athelstan’s stomach turned; surely the Lord would not allow His money or people to be smeared with blood?

 

*

 

When Jarl Ragnar arrived, it was with a sizeable party. Word had already reached the King that Jarl Ragnar’s warriors had arrived to assist at the borders, now he stood surrounded by warriors and Brothers, ready to greet Jarl Ragnar. Athelstan was among them, identically dressed in dark robes that reached his elbows and feet, belted with simple leather and metal that matched the heavy engraved bracelets he always wore around both wrists, declaring who he had dedicated his life to.

 

The weather was sharp, raven cries split the air like broken ice, but Jarl Ragnar was not bundled up in furs. He did not appear to feel the cold through his leather and wool, a sword at his back. He was short with long pale-golden braids and a shaven head that revealed strange shapes inked upon his scalp. His blue eyes were striking and he looked keenly at everyone and everything, as though unveiling their mysteries. His gaze lingered on Athelstan with a growing expression that rattled Athelstan with a ferocity he had not expected and lit his insides in a way that he could not explain. No one had ever looked at him like that before. What was the Lord intending? Another test? Athelstan had stood firm before.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s wife, Princess Aslaug, strode at his side, herding two of her young sons with great poise. Athelstan had heard particular whispers about her – that she was a witch because she claimed to predict what had not yet happened. Her gaze was as piercing as her husband’s, Athelstan could not hold her gaze. He looked away.

 

The group they headed was strange indeed to look at, the men were all bearded with long hair and bristled with weapons while many of the women wore shields and bore scars. They all had a ravenous look about them and a confidence that pierced. Athelstan prayed over and over in his head, thanking the Lord for these wolves. Of course the Lord would use them to fight his battles, what else were wolves for? But what would they snatch as their reward?

 

Darkness always stained whatever it touched. How would they test the Lord’s people?

 

King Edwin greeted Jarl Ragnar heartily and bid him to enter the stronghold and enjoy a feast. Athelstan let out a breath; his heart was hammering hard. He had laid eyes on many different people but never any like Jarl Ragnar and his people. Was that why they had affected him so? Athelstan prayed for strength and clarity and healing from whatever imbalance he was feeling.

 

He could sense eyes on him, eyes which he steadfastly ignored.

 

The tables in the stronghold’s great hall were groaning with food. Jarl Ragnar sat with his wife and children, his friends were loud as they drank and enjoyed the food. Where were Jarl Ragnar’s other brides? King Edwin asked about Jarl Ragnar’s brother, Rollo. Jarl Ragnar’s expression darkened but he answered, his voice heavily accented.

 

“He obeys my commands.”

 

“You trust him to wield a sword in your name?”

 

“It would be a waste of his skill now to kill him.”

 

The King nodded at that and continued to converse with Jarl Ragnar. Princess Aslaug was now holding a baby, one of her attendants held another, and her two other sons ate quite happily beside her. Some people were craning their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the babies, no doubt to see if they were damaged as stories claimed. Athelstan steadfastly looked away from the children and stood alongside his Brothers, eating simple meals of bread and plain meat, ready for the service of welcome that would take place once the feast was over; praying as the King had bade them to.

 

Atheltstan could feel Jarl Ragnar's hot gaze on him still, it unsettled him so much that he almost overturned his own plate, the food slipping over the edge and landing close to one of Jarl Ragnar's Vikings. The man, quite full of drink, roared with laughter and scooped up a couple of chicken legs to throw bodily at Athelstan.

 

“Feed yourself before the dogs!”

 

He had spoken in Norse as most of the Vikings did, it seemed that only Jarl Ragnar and perhaps Princess Aslaug had somehow managed to learn the language of the land they were visiting. Athelstan wondered how they had achieved it, he answered the Viking in Norse, “pokk.”

 

The man had already turned back to his fellows but Jarl Ragnar must have noticed Athelstan's choice of language because he looked at Athelstan sharply, the interest in his gaze increasing. Princess Aslaug also frequently glanced over at Athelstan. She leaned towards her husband, talking quietly as he stared at Athelstan with a slight hungry smile. Athelstan swallowed and prayed. He felt like a sacrifice, he had heard that such people made sacrifices to their gods. He felt like a wolf’s prey. The Lord asked for different kinds of sacrifice – people’s lives, their chastity, their strength – Athelstan had given everything gladly, for he was dedicated to the Lord and to his King. He felt fulfilled walking in their footsteps, he felt calm and centred. He did not feel so when gazed at by savages.

 

Athelstan continued to pray. This was a test of the Lord’s, how would Athelstan and his Brothers cope when faced with such people? They would pray and they would stand firm. They would show them the best way to live.

 

As the final dishes were carried in from the kitchens, a messenger rushed into the hall and flung himself to his knees before the King. A silence quickly descended.

 

“Such news, Your Majesty. The Takhars lie dead at our Northern border, killed by our warriors and by many from ships like Jarl Ragnar's.”

 

King Edwin stood and spread his arms, “One border is safe. How well the Lord rewards his faithful people. Jarl Ragnar, a toast to your swift and mighty warriors.”

 

The King lifted his goblet, after a pause Jarl Ragnar repeated the gesture slightly. His people cheered, ruddy with drink and good cheer. Princess Aslaug smiled and talked quietly to her sons and to her husband. Jarl Ragnar nodded and turned as though to look at Athelstan again. Athelstan was relieved when the Holy Father signalled for the Brothers to leave the hall in order to prepare for a service of thanksgiving.

 

Outside the hall, he felt as though he could truly breathe again. He could hear the ravens once more. What was wrong with him? He had been in the presence of strong men, of kings, before. What was the Lord trying to tell him? Athelstan followed his brothers into the smaller hall. He concentrated on unrolling mats, on positioning candles and a chair for the King. He knelt and began praying alongside his Brothers, repeating words that he had been speaking for many years now. The Lord had delivered His people because they were faithful and gave all that they could to Him. This was how He rewarded them.

 

Athelstan took comfort from such a feeling, though he could hear King Edwin conversing with Jarl Ragnar as they approached the hall.

 

“But we will be thanking the Lord for your warriors, for the bond that exists between our kingdoms now. You should join us.”

 

“Your god does not lift our swords,” Jarl Ragnar replied, amused and utterly sure. “Or guide our ships. I do not see your lord's power.”

 

“But He sees you and He should be thanked,” the Holy Father interjected with equal surety. “For what has been achieved between two great kingdoms.”

 

Athelstan could feel the frigid silence stretching behind him and he heard somebody spit, it was sudden, like a knife blow.

 

“You ask for my help, now you wish for me to ignore my gods.” There was deadly calm in Jarl Ragnar’s voice, it made Athelstan shiver. “I will leave here with a great prize.”

 

There was another silence and then the King murmured and the Holy Father strode back to the front of the hall, beginning the prayers spoken aloud with responses. Athelstan tried to lose himself in the words again but he was aware of a presence behind him, a presence watching him. He was prey.

 

The Lord was with him and would guide and protect him as He always had. He would.

 

Athelstan squeezed his eyes shut. His heart was hammering so loudly again, surely Jarl Ragnar, the Holy Father and the King could hear it? It was such a strange feeling that was consuming him and no matter how much he prayed, it didn't leave him.

 

What did the Lord require of him? What would his King need him to do? Athelstan wished that he understood, so that he could serve, do the Lord's work, follow his King's commands. Yet he was deeply aware of the new sensations twisting in his chest, like...like a storm in water. Jarl Ragnar had stayed to witness a service for a god that he scornfully did not call his own, he had stayed and stared at Athelstan.


	2. Untouched

 

 

Jarl Ragnar seemed to be constantly watching Athelstan now or maybe Athelstan was just too aware of Jarl Ragnar's gaze. Athelstan lowered his own gaze though, he should not be distracted and neither should Jarl Ragnar when discussing important matters with the King.

 

Jarl Ragnar even attended more services, Athelstan felt as though he was being weighed and measured. What did Jarl Ragnar want? Why was he staring? Why wouldn't he say something? And what were the feelings that kept stirring so strangely in Athelstan's chest? The Brotherhood continued to pray, advise the King and hold services. Athelstan immersed his mind in such matters; his King was relying on the Brotherhood and they would not disappoint him. It was the next day, after a sunset service, that Jarl Ragnar approached Athelstan.

 

Athelstan was praying when he realised he was not alone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had not been alone with Jarl Ragnar before. He kept his eyes closed and his hands tightly clasped. Jarl Ragnar had planned this. The Lord was with Athelstan, the Lord would guide him.

 

There was great silence as Athelstan continued to pray, in whispers not quite under his breath as though the sound itself would become a barricade. Then he heard footsteps, deliberate sounds. Jarl Ragnar was getting close. The feeling thickened alarmingly in Athelstan's chest. His prayers became quieter but he did not stop praying. The Lord would show him the way, He always did and always would.

 

“You will run out of prayers.”

 

Athelstan let out a breath and stopped praying for a moment, his heart felt as though it was hammering into his ribs. How could one man affect him so? He could not tell the Jarl to leave; he was King Edwin's guest, an important weapon in a fight to save this blessed land. He didn't open his eyes when he spoke.

 

“I pray for the King, for his victory and strength.”

 

“There are no others to pray for him?”

 

“We all do our part for our King.”

 

Athelstan's posture shifted, he opened his eyes and looked directly at Jarl Ragnar, who was wearing his sword and weather-worn leather and wool. There was none of the embroidered brocade that King Edwin often wore and no shining metal circlet across his brow. Jarl Ragnar held much power but he remained a warrior. If he did not fight, would his people still follow him? Athelstan had heard of how much they valued spilled blood and violent victory.

 

Athelstan cleared his throat and forced his gaze away, onto the candles arranged on the altar, a beacon that he was more desperate than ever to follow. “He is a blessed man.”

 

Jarl Ragnar was moving even closer, that slight smile on his face, as though amused by Athelstan. Athelstan felt like prey again, inside he felt as though he was starting to inflame, he felt as though he should run but the Holy Father had made known how important Jarl Ragnar now was. Athelstan could not cause offence, he moved slightly however, a sign of his discomfort, his plea to the Lord.

 

Jarl Ragnar tilted his head slightly. There was a terrifying silence before he spoke “And you, are you a blessed man? A priest of prayers and faith for your one god?”

 

There was mocking in Jarl Ragnar's words but Athelstan felt relief and as though aid was being provided because this allowed him to explain. He angled his wrists together to draw attention to the engraved arm-bands that he had worn since the day he'd made his vows to the Lord and to his King.

 

“I am a Brother for the Lord, my life is His, my prayers, my actions, body and soul.”

 

Jarl Ragnar's eyebrows lifted and his gaze narrowed. “ _Body_ and soul.”

 

Athelstan flushed but his words continued as though he could not stop, as though he had to speak. It was true Jarl Ragnar had to know this.

 

“I am untouched, by man and woman.”

 

“And yourself?”

 

Athelstan's colour deepened and he could only shake his head. He could not decipher Jarl Ragnar's expression, he was not sure that he wanted to but he could not look away from the Jarl and...and then there was the distant sound of a bell. Athelstan was being called to another hall for a service, as commanded by the King. Relief flowed through Athelstan and he quickly pushed himself up and to his feet. He was very aware of Jarl Ragnar's keen gaze, which somehow seemed hotter now. Athelstan sketched a quick but deeply respectful bow.

 

“I am being called to service.”

 

Jarl Ragnar nodded slowly, his expression mocking now, maybe because of what Athelstan had told him or because Athelstan was going to worship his one god, a fact which seemed so strange and laughable to the Vikings. Athelstan felt something inside of him clench painfully. The Lord was everything. He fled the room.

 

*

 

Athelstan didn’t see Jarl Ragnar for several days after that but he found himself often looking for the Jarl. The feelings curling through him didn't disappear. He found himself, to his horrified mystification, missing the sensation of Jarl Ragnar's gaze but Jarl Ragnar was busy meeting the King and other gentry, there was much talk of preserving Northumberland’s remaining borders, and warriors of Jarl Ragnar’s kept appearing at the King’s stronghold, messages were received, discussed and sent. Eventually it was declared that Jarl Ragnar was going to join his warriors, to press a final defeat upon the invaders. Athelstan felt something hitch in his chest every time that he heard Jarl Ragnar's name mentioned and when he caught a glimpse of the man.

 

Why did everything feel so terribly jumbled and new?

 

Jarl Ragnar said goodbye to his children and kissed his wife. Afterwards he held Athelstan's gaze like he was memorising Athelstan, then his men and shield maidens cheered and stomped as Jarl Ragnar was swallowed up by them. Athelstan felt like he could breathe or like he couldn't. He turned his burning face away.

 

Whatever was happening, it did not matter now.

 

Athelstan still found himself incredibly aware of the Vikings though, the ones who stayed behind - how differently they lived, how they eyed the people they met in Northumberland, how violence always ran so close to the surface. He tried not to stare, he tried not to be interested but his mind edged towards them every day, more specifically towards Jarl Ragnar. Athelstan bowed his head in shame and prayed until his knees were sore. He prayed for Jarl Ragnar's safety.

 

But Northumberland needed his prayers and his faith, now more than ever. Athelstan could not let his King down, even as such a part of him felt so focused on Jarl Ragnar instead.

 

He decided to speak to the Holy Father of his troubles, because the Father was wise and had always guided Athelstan well since childhood. Athelstan found a moment to speak to him after a service of provision, praying for the warriors who were readying themselves for another attack from the neighbouring kingdom. The Father looked at him expectantly; he did not seem surprised by Athelstan’s presence. Athelstan took comfort from that. Here, with the Holy Father, he felt calmed.

 

“The Vikings, Father,” he said quietly. “I find myself...it’s the strangest feeling.”

 

The Holy Father looked at him for a moment and then began dousing the lit candles. Athelstan followed him a pace behind, wishing he knew how to articulate his reservations and the feeling that twisted through him so often now.

 

“The Lord is teaching you, Athelstan. You must listen to his guidance.”

 

Athelstan frowned. “I have heard the Lord’s voice before, Father, but it hasn’t ever sounded like this.”

 

“It frightens you.”

 

Athelstan hesitated, then nodded. He knew that he should rely on the Lord and he did, of course he did. But the discomfort that he now felt, the heat, was so strange and strong. The Father faced Athelstan, his lined face firm.

 

“We are always to be purified, Athelstan, through trials and fire. The Vikings will bring this land great victory; there will be pain and sacrifices of course, perhaps for all of us. Are you prepared to do this, for your Lord and your King?”

 

Athelstan felt breathless, his heart thrumming. He had always been willing to give all for his Lord and King. He had always known that there would be pain – how else could he stay pure and then become purer? And he had welcomed such trials in the past but this felt so much _greater_ and uncertain somehow than anything he had previously faced. He felt overwhelmingly as though he might be consumed.

 

The Holy Father touched his shoulder – a blessing that Athelstan instantly bowed his head for – and murmured words of strength and gratitude.

 

“This is a vital time, Athelstan. The Lord is doing great things. You must listen to him.”

 

Athelstan felt the Holy Father let go of him. He knelt to say more of his own prayers. It was his time again to suffer, to go through trials for the Lord and for the glory of his King. So why did he so desire to see Jarl Ragnar again? Athelstan’s heartbeat was louder than any prayer bell.

 

*

 

There was a stretch of gardens that supplied the kitchen of the King’s stronghold. Athelstan often found himself gathering herbs there and whatever was growing. It was part of his duty as a Novice; to serve those that needed serving, to grow strong and cleansed through such hard work that the Lord observed every day. It was a blessing and Athelstan often felt soothed by such tasks, by concentrating only on serving and completing his duties. His mind was cleared by such moments and he prayed thankfulness with every step. Here, he truly felt the Lord’s blessings. This was what the Lord wanted; this was how he would serve the King best.

 

It was exactly what Athelstan needed to concentrate his thoughts away from the Vikings, from the peculiar ache inside of him caused by Jarl Ragnar's absence. When he wasn't praying, he spent a lot of time serving in the stronghold's kitchen and gardens.

 

A child laughed. Athelstan raised his head, his hands remaining in the soil as a young boy approached. It was one of Jarl Ragnar’s sons. Athelstan watched the child, there was another close behind. Who was watching them?

 

“What are you doing?” the first child asked in simple Norse.

 

Athelstan managed to smile slightly and prayed that he would remember the language he had once learned something of. These were children but they were also Jarl Ragnar’s sons. He had heard of important guests offended before, important alliances broken by something so simple. Athelstan would not shame his King.

 

“I’m gathering food for dinner.”

 

The second boy reached them and peered into the basket that rested beside Athelstan. “What are you going to make?”

 

Athelstan sat back a little, “Whatever I am told to, that is my duty. I am a Brother.”

 

“What’s a Brother?”

 

“A very good question.”

 

Athelstan’s eyes widened. Princess Aslaug had appeared, carrying one of her baby sons. A little way behind her stood one of her attendants, carrying the other. Princess Aslaug smiled slightly, expectantly. She was so beautiful. The feeling inside of Athelstan that had lessened and slumbered through simple work and prayer brilliantly flared up again. This was the woman who many in Northumberland claimed was cursed and fuelled by unnatural blasphemous power.

 

Athelstan swallowed and bowed as he was much as he was able to from his kneeling position. His hands were covered in soil; he did not feel fit to speak to her. But Princess Aslaug inclined her head, clearly waiting for him to answer her son’s question. Athelstan forced his attention back to the impatient child.

 

“A Brother is a man of faith; we serve the King and live humble lives dedicated to our Lord God.”

 

Princess Aslaug’s smile grew, “A humble man of faith. And your King surrounds himself with such men, for guidance?”

 

Athelstan nodded, unsure what else to say. Princess Aslaug did not seem discomforted by the conversation. The baby in her arms made a noise and she comforted it with ease. She turned as though to walk away before shifting her gaze back towards Athelstan. He was mesmerised by the grace of her every movement, how was it she achieved such elegance?

 

“Come, I would learn more of your dedication to the King my husband allies with.”

 

It was a command. Athelstan wiped his hands as clean as he could and got to his feet. Princess Aslaug’s older sons ran ahead of him, Athelstan realised that they were carrying wooden swords which they now began to spar with. Princess Aslaug didn’t stop them; instead she seated herself on a chair that had evidently been brought outside for her. Athelstan approached her slowly, unsure of what was expected of him. He felt awkward and cumbersome but Princess Aslaug seemed relaxed and looked at him with easy interest. Her gaze was as piercing as Jarl Ragnar’s, yet the weight of it was different. Athelstan found it very hard to look away from her.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Athelstan, Highness.”

 

Princess Aslaug looked gently amused and something like impressed. “Athelstan, who chooses to live with his hands in mud for his King.”

 

She could have been mocking him but he saw no malice in her expression. Princess Aslaug didn’t wait for his reply; instead she crooked her arms to show him the baby that she was cradling.

 

“My sons, Sigurd Snake-in-the Eye.”

 

There was an imperfection in the baby’s eye, it was green and it looked...it looked like a serpent. Athelstan had never seen anything like it before, was this why some said that Princess Aslaug was cursed? Why she and Jarl Ragnar were being punished by the Lord? Queen Aslaug nodded to her attendant who brought forward the other baby, whose legs, Athelstan noticed, were twisted and malformed.

 

“And Ivar.”

 

Princess Aslaug was looking at Athelstan as though expecting a reaction. He wondered suddenly how often people had told her that her children were her punishment. Perhaps they were but Athelstan had also been taught that every suffering had a purpose for the Lord. Only the Lord was to decide what these children would grow up to be and do, every deed done could be great for His purpose.

 

Athelstan raised a hand and softly spoke a prayer in his native tongue before commenting in the Nordic voice of Princess Aslaug’s people.

 

“You are greatly blessed, Highness.”

 

Princess Aslaug looked at him searchingly, then her mouth drew upwards and she inclined her head in acceptance. Athelstan could hear the other boys yelling, the clash of wooden sword on wooden sword. Princess Aslaug smiled towards them.

 

“Ubbe and Hvitserk.”

 

“They will be great warriors, like their father?”

 

“Of course. And you? What will you become, Brother Athelstan?”

 

Athelstan smiled quickly, as though unsure the expression was welcome, “I will not be a warrior, Highness. I will serve my King and follow the Lord.”

 

“That is all?”

 

“That is everything.”

 

Hvitserk tumbled to the ground close to Athelstan and gazed up at him. Athelstan gazed back, his smile coming a little easier when faced with such a guileless child. He sometimes spoke to the Northumberland children who often ran through the stronghold, serving the King by caring for horses, working in the kitchens or washing the clothes. He told them of the Lord, striving to guide them in the best of directions.

 

“Where is your sword?” Hvikserk wanted to know.

 

Athelstan glanced back at Princess Aslaug – she wore no sword, unlike many of the Viking women but her attendant wore a blade at her hip and there were a couple of Viking men stood near the stronghold on guard, sharpening swords and talking together.

 

“I don’t have one,” Athelstan told Hvitserk, and Ubbe who had wandered over to hear his answer. “I’m not a warrior.”

 

“Everyone is,” Ubbe replied.

 

Ivar began to burble noises at that point and Princess Aslaug watched Athelstan for only a moment more before turning to her upset son. Athelstan looked back at Ubbe and Hvikserk who were both on their feet now and looking at him with their father's intensity. Athelstan's heart raced; he didn't know what to say, especially when Hvikserk offered him a wooden sword.

 

Athelstan didn't reach for it. He felt suspended in the silence, as though there was a great chasm beneath him, as though there was a storm coming. Eventually, he managed a weak smile, “I don't know how to use it.”

 

Ubbe and Hvikserk smiled and immediately set upon each other with cries and sword blows, telling Athelstan to watch so that he could learn. Princess Aslaug finished nursing Ivar and watched them from her seat, sharp-eyed and beautiful.

 

Athelstan breathed out, something warm seeping through him. He was following the Lord's voice, conversing with Jarl Ragnar's family, perhaps he was helping draw the Vikings closer to Northumberland and the Lord. He prayed for further opportunities like this, he prayed for Jarl Ragnar and his family.


	3. The Surety Of Gods

 

 

 

Most days now, Athelstan was not alone when fulfilling some of his stronghold duties. The Holy Father told him that Princess Aslaug enjoyed his company and had asked that Athelstan work in the garden daily. Athelstan's heart and nerves thudded but the Holy Father told him that he was doing the Lord's work, that this was good news.

 

“She finds you of worth, perhaps she will tell her husband that Northumberland is worthy of their attention beyond the battlefield,” the Holy Father had said. “The Lord will use every victory to our advantage.”

 

The Holy Father ordered for more prayers to be said for the Princess, that her time among the Brothers would turn her towards the Lord, that her children would grow towards the Lord too. Athelstan prayed this with his Brothers and when he found himself in the company of the Princess and her sons. Ubbe and Hvikserk gambolled and practised with their swords. They asked questions and Athelstan answered as best he could. He taught them about the herbs and flowers he tended to, how they could be used for food, the names of birds that were often seen, looking for morsels to eat. The boys always asked him to fight with them but Athelstan bowed his head in refusal and Princess Aslaug watched but did not command him to lift a sword, even a wooden one.

 

She asked her own questions, about Athelstan's family – he had only the Brothers, he had been left with them when he was a babe, he had lived in the King's stronghold ever since, the King liked his faithful order of holy men to stay in his stronghold, to surround him and his home with blessings. She also asked about his Lord. Athelstan wanted to ask her about the stories he had heard, about how she could predict what was to happen. He did not though and listened to the stories she told instead.

 

Princess Aslaug told him about the dragon that her father, Sigurd, had slain. She did so with great pride and as though such a thing was possible. Athelstan shivered, could such things exist? The Northumberland heathens who refused to turn to the Lord claimed that the world crawled with them. The Holy Father always said that tales of such creatures were truly sins by another name, sins that the heathens refused to claim as their own and seek forgiveness for. What sin had Sigurd slain?

 

“You are full of questions but you never ask them,” Princess Aslaug observed one day.

 

Athelstan did not answer her and she did not press yet but he could tell from her expression that she soon would. He found himself enjoying her company, her directness, her love of her children and her husband, the way she moved, the way she spoke to both Viking and subject of King Edwin. Athelstan found that he admired her, the way that she weighed words and led her people in her husband's absence, the warmth he could see amid her poised manners. A different feeling ran through him now – quiet but just as strong, warm and humming. The Lord was speaking to him in different ways once more, ways which felt comforting, a sign perhaps? He prayed thanks for the comfort and asked for such a feeling for Princess Aslaug. He could tell that she worried about Jarl Ragnar and Athelstan wished that he could take away that pain.

 

He found that he didn't like how some people looked at her, judgement sharp in their eyes, judgement that Princess Aslaug seemed to bear easily. Athelstan didn't like it though and he didn't like how the whispers rose and fell in her wake, about her husband and her children, about everything she said or did.

 

One day, without warning, Princess Aslaug placed Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye in Athelstan's arms. Athelstan froze and stared down at the baby, at Jarl Ragnar's intent gaze captured in such young eyes. Princess Aslaug did not help him but watched in a way that made Athelstan's skin prickle. It was not an entirely awful feeling.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but was not sure what to say to one so young. What was Princess Aslaug expecting of him? He was no nurse. He jostled the child carefully, trying to imitate a soothing rhythm and Sigurd did not cry. A short while later, Princess Aslaug reclaimed her son. She leaned in so close to do so that her hair brushed against Athelstan.

 

When alone in his room to sleep or contemplate or pray, Athelstan found himself now thinking of Princess Aslaug. The room was bare and humble, containing only a thin pallet and chair. He found Princess Aslaug's careful expressions waiting behind his eyes with the smell of her hair and the grace of her actions. His heart moved and worried and he prayed and prayed and prayed.

 

He so often thought of Jarl Ragnar still and thought of the Jarl's wife now too. How could the Lord wish for this? What was the purpose here? And the Holy Father was _ pleased _ because Princess Aslaug was listening to Athelstan and great things could grow from such a humble start, their two lands separated by sea could enter a bond greater than victories achieved at Northumberland's borders. Athelstan felt guilt gnawing at him, at how often he thought of Jarl Ragnar and Princess Aslaug, at how no amount of work could now clear his thoughts.

 

Ubbe and Hvikserk helped pull away plants that strangled others in the stronghold's garden and tugged on Athelstan's arms, teaching him more Norse, laughing at his accent. He drew letters in the dirt, showing Ubbe and Hvikerk their names in Latin. They wanted to know when their father would return, Athelstan wished to know as well, for them and for himself. He noticed a raven nesting in a nearby tree.

 

One afternoon, Princess Aslaug tried to hand him Ivar, Athelstan froze again, at a child in his arms, “I don't know what to say.”

 

Princess Aslaug looked amused, “If you speak, he will learn.”

 

So what should Athelstan say? Ivar's legs were still twisted, perhaps it was nerves or the Lord's will because they were the first thing that Athelstan found he could speak of, “Is he in pain?”

 

Princess Aslaug touched the blanket that swaddled Ivar, her hand soft and caring, “That is his fate.”

 

Her expression said so much. Athelstan's fingers flickered but he did not touch her. Where had that urge come from? He was still frightened by what he felt, by the strength of it and how it never seemed to fade. But there was also something about Aslaug that kept him tethered, as though her presence almost allowed his feet to stay planted on the ground. He had heard whispers in the stronghold that criticised her for how she addressed people, for the cunning artifice observed in her words and actions. Athelstan had never found it to be so.

 

“Is that not what your people believe? That the gift from my gods leaves me damned by your lord?”

 

Athelstan turned sharply at Queen Aslaug's words. She did not look hurt or accusatory, simply as though she was stating facts. Athelstan's stomach turned sour but he nodded, he would not lie, not even now. Princess Aslaug gentled fingers across Ivar's head and her voice became quiet, almost like a secret.

 

“When he was born, I was told to drown him. He will not grow up to be a warrior like his father. He will be weak and pitied for it. But I saw what he could become, I have chosen a life of pain for him, pain and greatness, as it shall be for all sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.”

 

She sounded so certain. Athelstan thought suddenly of the stories that he had often inked carefully onto paper, stories of the Lord's people, some who were given visions and dreams of what was to come. Who was to say that Princess Aslaug wasn't touched by the same blessing? Could a curse and a blessing be the same thing? Why was this so important to Athelstan?

 

Princess Aslaug left Ivar lying in Athelstan's arms like a challenge and turned her attention back towards her other sons.

 

*

 

“You shouldn't talk to them.”

 

Athelstan was entering the King's stronghold when one of the Northumberland warriors standing on guard spoke to him. Athelstan slowed to a halt, the guard had dark hair that curled at his neck and scars that ran down his cheeks. There was something hard and hateful in his expression that made Athelstan want to recoil but he stood where he was, he'd learned to do that a lot lately.

 

“To who?” he asked quietly, though he was sure with a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

 

“The dogs who run for our King,” the warrior replied with great scorn. “He'll put them down once our borders are clear.”

 

Dread clutched Athelstan's throat and he shook his head vehemently, trying hard not to shake. “The King has made a vow, the Vikings have allied with us and will make us stronger.”

 

The warrior spat near Athelstan's feet, Athelstan flinched.

 

“That dog and his witch have been cursed by the Lord and they've brought that curse here. Ill winds'll follow, you shouldn't call them closer.”

 

Athelstan buried his fingers in the folds of his robe and formed a grim smile. He wished for Princess Aslaug's presence, for Jarl Ragnar's smirk, for their children's warmth. He wished for the certainty of the Lord.

 

“I follow my King's commands and my Lord's desires,” was all he said before hurrying on into the stronghold.

 

The guard was not the only one hissing with such thoughts. Athelstan was of course aware of how many whispers spoke of Jarl Ragnar's Vikings. But had they always been so nakedly, violently hostile? What would this mean for the Vikings? For Northumberland?

 

Before he could marshal such thoughts and seek out the Holy Father, a cry rose up from the stronghold's entrance. Athelstan turned and saw a litter, being carried in by snarling Viking men smeared with blood. He heard bird cries like screams and saw a streak of pale weathered skin, an almost still body. It was only a glimpse but it set his heart thumping loudly and his thoughts racing for the Lord.

 

_Oh please, Lord, oh please no..._


	4. Burning Bright

 

 

 

For many days Jarl Ragnar did not move. His head had been bleeding when he'd been found by his men so soon after a border battle had been won - almost all borders were free now, the leaders of the invading forces dealt with and no one returned to attempt another fight. Princess Aslaug claimed that the last of the battles would be finished soon. She sounded absolutely sure and Athelstan couldn't doubt her, not when Jarl Ragnar was lying so still.

 

King Edwin had immediately sent for his most trusted healers, people who had seen him and his family through terrible sickness and injury. The Vikings who had surrounded Ragnar since he was carried in threw the healers out. A tall wiry man called Floki who wore the most intense unnerving expressions seemed to be in charge. He wore dark paint around his eyes, as though proclaiming warnings of what he might do. He called for certain foods and herbs and a brazier for his work as a blade made hot by flames was needed. He talked in impatient mocking Norse and sneered at Athelstan, even when Athelstan brought him the required herbs and food. But Athelstan was also the only subject of King Edwin that Floki did not throw out.

 

Princess Aslaug left the stronghold's grounds and made sacrifices to her gods. Most of King Edwin's court were outraged. Athelstan stayed inside and prayed fervently, his heart dancing with worry. He could feel people's gazes on him, he was sure they were hoping that Jarl Ragnar would die, especially now that he had fulfilled his agreement with the King. If Jarl Ragnar died, he would not ask for payment.

 

Athelstan didn't like to see Jarl Ragnar lying so still. He didn't like to see Jarl Ragnar's eyes closed. He didn't like to see Princess Aslaug so pale and quiet but she continued to oversee her sons and told them that their father was in the hands of the gods now. She continued to ask for Athelstan's company, Athelstan could not refuse her.

 

They sat almost silently together, Athelstan prayed. He wondered if Princess Aslaug prayed too. He wondered what he could say to her, what comfort he could give. She did not value the Lord.

 

He was startled from his thoughts by Princess Aslaug's touch to his hand. Her fingers enfolded his for a long breathless moment, her steady gaze meeting his. Then she let go, a moment or two later, a Viking came to her with a message – King Edwin wished to speak with her. Apparently there was news that Jarl Ragnar's brother Rollo had been seen the day that Jarl Ragnar fell. Had Princess Aslaug known of his presence?

 

“Rollo fights for his Jarl,” she replied before the King, as calm as ever. “He owes Ragnar his life, he would not betray Ragnar's trust again.”

 

“He did so before,” pointed out Lord Magen, trusted by the King but always with a sharp disliking eye towards the Vikings. “And while Jarl Ragnar fights for King Edwin perhaps Rollo believes now would be the perfect time to gain what he could not before.”

 

Princess Aslaug looked almost amused, “Rollo is here at Jarl Ragnar's request, to fight at one of your borders. I understand that battle was won.”

 

“For your husband's sake, we pray it is so,” King Edwin pointed out.

 

*

 

The talk of Rollo continued to grow and more than a few Vikings seemed to agree, cursing his name and speaking of his treachery. Floki reported that Jarl Ragnar now slept peacefully, his wounds closed. The gods had him now and would choose whether to keep him or not. Vikings guarded Jarl Ragnar's chamber.

 

Athelstan did not often step past them now, only to ask how Jarl Ragnar was. He could not look at the Jarl like that anymore, so lifeless and still. When Athelstan thought of Jarl Ragnar, he didn't think of the man who was healing, lying on a bed, attended to by friends and subjects, his sons playing around him. Athelstan thought of the smirk Jarl Ragnar had worn when talking to him, the heated way he had gazed at Athelstan, the way he had stirred something so deeply inside of Athelstan, something that Princess Aslaug had only stoked brighter.

 

He got to know a few of the Vikings – Floki only cruelly mocked him for his beliefs, but while Torstein laughed he also clapped Athelstan on the shoulder and offered him mead, shaking his head when Athelstan refused. Torstein was tall and bearded and seemed immovable, he often guarded Jarl Ragnar's chambers and often talked to Athelstan, telling him of Kattegat, the village that Jarl Ragnar ruled from, how he heard people's troubles in the longhouse and had once been a farmer until his desire for raiding across the water had made him enemy to Kattegat's Jarl. Jarl Ragnar had slain the Jarl and had led the people ever since. Torstein talked of how Jarl Ragnar would be welcomed well among the gods for his great victories in battle, what an honour and blessing that would be.

 

Athelstan drank in the stories. They distracted him from Jarl Ragnar's current state and seemed so fascinating but also different to life in Northumberland.

 

The feeling Athelstan's chest was painful now, it hurt because Jarl Ragnar lay silent, he could be dying, and Princess Aslaug was strained. Even if she did not show it, Athelstan could see it. He could sense it in how she moved now and how she sat with him within the stronghold's gardens, how often she asked for him and touched his hand. He worried for her and the strength of that worry made him want to bury himself in prayer but he also wanted to stay with the Vikings, to hear of Jarl Ragnar.

 

The Holy Father told him that he should continue to be the voice of the Lord among the Vikings, even though some of his Brothers vehemently disagreed, feeling that Athelstan was being toyed with, that the Vikings were bringing such darkness to Northumberland with their behaviour and talk of gods and now they committed sacrifices for their Jarl. Athelstan was eyed with suspicion and worse by some of his Brothers. The feeling inside his chest became worse.

 

_Oh Lord, he could turn to you, he could take word of you across the sea. He could...why do my thoughts reach for him? Why is my concern so much for Princess Aslaug? Why am I not thinking more of the King, how the breaking of this bond with the Vikings could affect him?_

 

_What has Jarl Ragnar done to me?_

 

Athelstan began to shut himself away in his room for hours, _ to speak to the Lord _ he told the Holy Father  _ to seek out guidance. _ To run away. The feeling in his chest throbbed and rankled and clawed. He tensed and lay down, pressing his face to the cold stone wall, his fingers trying to memorise his arm-bands. Always, even now, his thoughts returned to a clear blue gaze accompanied by a warm touch on his hand. Always.

 

He felt so lost.  _ Oh Lord, what have I done? _

 

*

 

A day later, Floki announced that Jarl Ragnar was beginning to stir. Princess Aslaug went to see him and then sent for her sons. Athelstan, full of something burning bright but now without pain, did not visit Jarl Ragnar. It was just too much.

 

What would Jarl Ragnar's stare see?

 

So Athelstan kept busy. The Holy Father ordered a celebratory service, which the King was greatly in favour of. Athelstan's heart beat wildly with gratitude for Jarl Ragnar's progress and Princess Aslaug wrapped an arm around his for a moment when they sat side by side, still meeting in the garden daily because Princess Aslaug commanded it and Athelstan did not want to let her down nor disappoint his King and Holy Father. Princess Aslaug looked at him as though she knew why he had been hiding himself away, she also looked truly relieved by her husband's recovery.

 

“Did your gods not tell you of this?” Athelstan couldn't help asking.

 

Princess Aslaug smiled as though Athelstan had said something deeply appreciated, “Some things are clouded from me.”

 

Athelstan offered great thanks to the Lord, prayers and praises that he could not contain. He felt the eyes of some of his Brothers on him, and other Northumberland gazes as well. He kept his own eyes desperately on the Lord. The feeling inside of him warmed him thoroughly now. Athelstan was no closer to possessing any answers but he felt the Lord's blessing in Jarl Ragnar's recovery. That was enough.

 

Was the Lord approving of Jarl Ragnar's presence? Was that what He was saying?

 

Athelstan was still trying to understand, pressing his fingers to his arm-bands, keeping himself contained and hidden unless serving his King, when he was called to eat in the great hall with the rest of his Brothers, a true celebration feast. Athelstan's eyes followed Aslaug's sons, they were well and lively, the Viking men lifted and talked with them with ease. That was good. Then a Viking warrior arrived with great noise and headed directly for Princess Aslaug. He bowed his head to her, she accepted the respect serenely and there was something anticipatory in her eyes as the warrior declared loudly,

 

“Jarl Lagertha has been victorious!”

 

There were great cheers from the Vikings sat in the hall. One of them pressed a mug of mead into the messenger's hand and slapped him on the back. Then there was a clatter and several more warriors poured into the hall. There were murmurs among the King's advisers, King Edwin himself looked a little concerned. His guards had their hands to their swords, ready to act.

 

A female warrior emerged from amongst the new arrivals, she was greeted with particular cheers. She had pale fair hair and bright keen eyes, and was short of stature but walked with such an air of confidence and surety. Her smile was quiet but Athelstan felt its power. Princess Aslaug looked particularly pleased to see her as the stranger turned to the King, speaking a language he would understand, accented but confident.

 

“Your borders are safe, no one will dare lay claim to your land while you hold bond with Jarl Ragnar.”

 

There was another cheer from the Vikings. Under her calm expression and slight smile, Princess Aslaug seemed happier than she had been for some time. Athelstan could tell that now, the Lord was giving him insight of course, combined with how much time he had spent with Jarl Ragnar's wife. He wished suddenly that he was sat close to Princess Aslaug, his hand twitching as Princess Aslaug addressed the King,

 

“King Edwin, one of Jarl Ragnar's most trusted allies, Jarl Lagertha.”

 

Jarl Lagertha nodded and turned, catching the gaze of a tall lean warrior who waited close by. He immediately stepped forward and bowed neatly to Princess Aslaug who looked pleased.

 

“My son, Björn Ironside, firstborn of Ragnar Lothbrok,” Jarl Lagertha announced, pride clear on her face.

 

That caused a murmur. So Jarl Lagertha was another of Jarl Ragnar's wives? The whispers about Jarl Ragnar claimed he had many. Athelstan stared at her, she was unbowed by the way people were now talking of her. King Edwin eyed her with interest and a shade of disbelief.

 

“You and your men have my thanks,” he told her. “Please, eat and rest.”

 

Lagertha's warriors were already sat amongst the other Vikings. Lagertha's smile curled intriguingly. Athelstan's heart felt tight and he found himself wondering just what she would do next.

 

“The rest of my people have made camp not far from this place.”

 

“Then food will be sent to them with my thanks,” King Edwin replied.

 

Lagertha gestured her acceptance and then turned to Princess Aslaug, her smile changing shape. “Princess Aslaug.”

 

She kissed Princess Aslaug close to the mouth before sitting down next to Lord Roan who looked both intrigued and entirely taken aback by this woman who wore both breeches and sword. Athelstan found that he couldn't take his eyes from Jarl Lagertha, he was not the only one, many of the King's subjects were openly staring and whispering. She did not look once at Athelstan as she drank and ate whilst talking to Lord Roan.

 

“How did you become a Jarl?” Lord Roan asked bluntly.

 

Jarl Lagertha barely paused before answering, “I killed my husband when he invaded me.”

 

Lord Roan coughed out a mouthful of mead. Jarl Lagertha's expression remained flat and uncaring. Athelstan felt cold, such a thing happening even across the water...He glanced again at Jarl Lagertha and caught sight of her raising an eyebrow at Princess Aslaug who looked back. It was as though they were conversing without words.

 

Then Jarl Lagertha looked towards Athelstan.

 

He dropped his gaze immediately, his face and insides burning. He wished he could leave the hall for his room or seek counsel from the Holy Father but he was in conversation with the King and Athelstan could not talk to his Brothers or leave until commanded to do so. So he prayed fervently to the Lord, yet his desire to look at Jarl Lagertha and sit close to Princess Aslaug mockingly refused to leave him and he was dawningly aware that some deep part of him was  _ glad. _


	5. As The Ink Dries

 

 

 

King Edwin's stronghold was full of activity. Jarl Ragnar's chambers were locked to almost everybody now, Jarl Lagertha had entered them the previous night and hadn't been seen since. Princess Aslaug seemed so settled and content, her sons were happy too. Ubbe and Hvikserk chattered about Jarl Lagertha, wanting to know when they would see her again.

 

Athelstan wanted to ask how Princess Aslaug bore it, not being the only wife of Jarl Ragnar. But she and Jarl Lagertha seemed to share some affection. What kind of marriage was it? Athelstan's mind flowed endlessly with thoughts of the three of them. Princess Aslaug still wished to spend time with him and he did not want to refuse her though he also wished to shut himself away, to close his eyes and talk to the Lord. How could Athelstan's voice be used here? That was what he should focus on most. How could he speak as the Lord wished him to? How could he find the peace he needed to do as the Lord wanted?

 

How could he spend so much time thinking of these three particular Vikings?

 

The stronghold's garden no longer brought him clear thoughts. Every moment he spent with Jarl Ragnar's young sons now pierced something inside of him. He could not blame them. He prayed but the Lord seemed quiet, or at least He did not answer Athelstan as He had done before the Vikings' arrival. Athelstan had thought that the time he'd been told to spend with Princess Aslaug and her sons had been an answer, the Lord's will. But now, he was no longer sure, he didn't want to be.  _ Oh Lord, where are you? What have I done? Help me, please. _

 

Athelstan began to spend more time with his parchment and ink, carefully writing out the Lord's words. It was a duty he had recently neglected and some of his Brothers, his fellow scribes, now glanced at him meaningfully. He could feel their judgement though they said nothing. He concentrated on his work, his grip tight around his quill. He was there to serve the Lord, not think of anything else.

 

Jarl Ragnar lived and was united with his wives and sons. Athelstan would be content with that. He would.

 

He pushed down the feeling that squirmed and burned within him and concentrated on the ink drying on his parchment. He concentrated for so long that when he next looked up, he was alone.

 

He didn't have time to gather his thoughts because Jarl Lagertha suddenly appeared in the doorway. She looked as though she'd expected to find him there, her gaze was locked on him. Athelstan could feel his heart beating wildly, he quickly put down his quill and stepped away from his work; he didn't want to ruin it.

 

He couldn't look away from Jarl Lagertha. He bowed, “Jarl Lagertha.”

 

“Brother Athelstan.”

 

She only sounded slightly mocking and her eyes seemed to weigh him where he stood. What did she want? Was Jarl Ragnar well? Princess Aslaug? Their sons? His mouth dried.

 

“Is all well?”

 

“Jarl Ragnar still lives, his family is pleased.” Jarl Lagertha looked at his face intently. “They are pleased with you.”

 

Something too much like happiness leapt in Athelstan's throat. He heard the clink of his arm-bands as he shifted from foot to foot. He was the Lord's, that was all. That was enough.

 

He managed a small smile, appropriately unremarkable. “I'm glad to have been of service.”

 

Jarl Lagertha moved purposefully towards him, her expression fixed. “And now you lock yourself away, to do what? While the Jarl and his family needs you.”

 

Athelstan swallowed past the lump growing in his throat, “I'm writing the words of the Lord, so that others may know of Him and all that He has done.”

 

Jarl Lagertha's gaze strayed for a moment to the pages that demonstrated the truth of Athelstan's words. She considered them for a moment and then considered him. She was different to Princess Aslaug who was regal and serene and yet piercing in a way that made Athelstan catch his breath. Jarl Lagertha was blunt and fierce and held as much power in a very different manner. They both maintained Athelstan's attention and occupied his thoughts. He should turn his face away, he should tell her that he needed to pray.

 

Instead, he watched her as she spoke.

 

“You are a priest.”

 

“I am a man of faith. It is all I live for.”

 

“To serve your King and your lord.”

 

Athelstan frowned slightly, that was close to what King Edwin's subjects all learned and said of the Brotherhood. Had Jarl Lagertha been learning about the Brothers? “Yes.”

 

Jarl Lagertha's mouth twisted, her clever fingers inspecting what she found on the table. She did not seem impressed.

 

“Your Brothers are spoken of across this land; the men who give up all for their god and King. You live here, under his roof, you light candles and say prayers and seek your god's blessing. Nothing for yourself.”

 

“The Brothers are my family.”

 

Athelstan was aware that he sounded slightly pleading but he could not prevent it. What was Jarl Lagertha drawing out of him? Her direct gaze, her unbrokered words. She stood as a warrior, a sword at her hip, wearing clothing that the Viking men had. But her face was striking, her beauty sharp and unexpected, and her fair hair shone, hanging down her back, several twisting braids coiling around it.

 

Jarl Lagertha moved closer still, bold and unaffected by Athelstan's reaction.

 

“My son would know the man who makes his brothers happy. You have been teaching them, teach him of this land that he is now bound to.”

 

Bj ö rn. Athelstan had not seen much of Jarl Lagertha's son. Bj ö rn had spoken with his father, Athelstan knew that much, and he had played with his brothers. But he had not spoken to Athelstan. Why now? Why, Lord?

 

Athelstan cleared his throat. “There are others, with greater experiences, who can speak of such things better than I. They should teach him.”

 

Jarl Lagertha looked annoyed now, “They have not taught his brothers. You will teach him.”

 

An order. If Athelstan disobeyed, the Holy Father and the King would be furious. Oh how his insides ached, with gladness? With pained worry and fear? Athelstan hardly knew anymore, or rather he didn't dare think long on it to find out. He couldn't bear to.

 

Realising he hadn't answered her, he dipped his head, his face far too unschooled in the previous silence. “Of course.”

 

Jarl Lagertha appeared amused now, her expression becoming a smile, warmer, changing her beauty into something different again. Athelstan felt the desire to watch and see what else she could become.

 

“Jarl Ragnar wishes to see you.”

 

Of course he did. Jarl Lagertha didn't make it a command but Athelstan could tell from the shape of her expression that if he refused, she would make it so. He bowed his head again.

 

“I will go to him.”

 

There was Jarl Lagertha's amusement again, and mocking too. “You will.”

 

Her gaze dropped to the table and she stopped exploring the ink and quills. Her gaze slid to Athelstan's wrists, to his engraved arm-bands.

 

“Your vows, to remain faithful, in all things, to your lord.”

 

She  _ had _ been learning about the Brothers. Athelstan could only nod because Jarl Lagertha was close again, her fingers touching the arm-bands. He could not feel her skin but his breath left him anyway. Jarl Lagertha's smile was like Jarl Ragnar's and yet entirely her own, a hunter seeking prey.

 

“Untouched by man and woman, except for Princess Aslaug.”

 

Athelstan startled and almost jerked away on instinct. What was Jarl Lagetha implying? Were the whispers in the stronghold so dark now? No, Jarl Lagertha's fingers travelled from the arm-bands to the skin of Athelstan's wrists, her hands chapped but strong. Athelstan didn't close his eyes, he clamped his mouth shut to prevent any sound from escaping.

 

Princess Aslaug had touched him in such a place, light but affecting. Had she discussed such moments with Jarl Lagertha? Why?

 

Jarl Lagertha looked at him, her eyes an encompassing fire, “And now me.”

 

Without warning, her hand left his wrist to rest on the side of his neck. It felt uncommonly like a brand. Athelstan couldn't speak, he couldn't look away from Jarl Lagertha.

 

A couple of moments and then she released him, heading quickly for the doorway, “Do not keep him waiting.”

 

Athelstan stood, dazed, her body feeling as though it was humming. That moment had felt profound, like a message. A gust of wind through the cracked window tore at the Athelstan's parchment and he hurried to collect them all up. When he took a cloth to stuff the window's gaps, a raven alighted behind the glass and stared at him through the cracks. Athelstan stared back, his eyes wide and mouth open.

 

Then the raven flew away and Athelstan was left with feather quills and ink and memories and feelings that made treacherous warmth kindle inside of him again, warmth that he had thought was to be discouraged and was too dangerous, but the warmth persisted and caused Athelstan to wonder against all pained despairing resistance if this was in fact his sought-after answer from the Lord, a whisper, waiting to be heard.


	6. Tiny Beating Wings

 

 

 

Athelstan felt dazed as he walked through the King’s stronghold. He was to teach Jarl Ragnar’s eldest son, Jarl Ragnar wished to see him, Jarl Lagertha had touched him. Athelstan shook his head; he felt dazed but he also felt warm. How could he _know_ it was the Lord? He had to talk to the Holy Father. But first, he would see Jarl Ragnar. He would not cause his King shame or show any disrespect to King Edwin’s allies.

 

And he wished to see Jarl Ragnar, now that he was no longer motionless and close to meeting his gods.

 

Athelstan’s heart raced fast beneath his skin and his feet quickened. He was aware though, of changes in the whispers around him. They no longer spoke only of Jarl Ragnar and his wives – the blasphemy, the outrage, how they should be dealt with – now they spoke of Jarl Ragnar’s brother Rollo too;

 

“Taller than three men, how could his brother have defeated him?”

 

“His witch saw it happen. There’s no other way.”

 

“He’s here to kill Jarl Ragnar with his own hand; to be sure it’s done.”

 

“He was talking to Lord Magen and you know how he feels about the Vikings’ place here.”

 

“The sooner they’re gone from Northumberland...”

 

Athelstan kept his head bowed. His heart now raced for a different reason. Rollo was here, Rollo who had attempted to kill Jarl Ragnar, his own brother. Jarl Ragnar had claimed that Rollo swung sword on his command now, he had been sure. Family could be blinding, so Athelstan had been told, and in his place in the stronghold he had seen how squabbles between family members could sometimes warp, fester and ruin.

 

The Viking guards still stood outside Jarl Ragnar’s chambers. They smirked at the sight of Athelstan and let him in, their gazes studying him keenly. Athelstan hurried through the door, not looking back. Inside, Jarl Ragnar lay on a large bed. He was wearing loose clothing which hid whatever wounds he had suffered and his boots remained on his feet. His sword was close at hand. There was a faint hint of smoke in the air and the smell of burned herbs. There was no sign of Jarl Ragnar’s wives or his children; there were adjoining rooms though, perhaps they had rested there during Jarl Ragnar’s recovery.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s eyes were open and fixed on Athelstan. His gaze remained blue and striking. Athelstan felt his breath catch in his throat and he silently thanked the Lord again, for sparing this man for sparing Jarl Ragnar's family more pain.

 

Athelstan took a step forward and bowed respectfully, his voice quiet “Jarl Ragnar.”

 

“Priest,” Jarl Ragnar spoke with pleasure, he beckoned Athelstan closer. “You have prayed for me.”

 

It was not a question, what had Jarl Ragnar heard? Athelstan could only nod. Now that he was nearer the bed, he could see the tiredness and pain etched in Jarl Ragnar’s expression but the Viking’s gaze was unwavering and Athelstan could not look away. He had _missed_ Jarl Ragnar. The warmth he had been feeling now increased inside of him. Athelstan wanted to drown himself in such a feeling, a feeling that in Jarl Ragnar's presence felt as wide and deep as a river. It made Athelstan feel breathless.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s expression shifted; there was another quality in it now. Athelstan didn’t know what to call it but it made the river inside of him spread.

 

“Perhaps I am a blessed man too,” Jarl Ragnar continued.

 

“You are,” replied Athelstan before he could stop himself.

 

He coloured but did not regret his words. Jarl Ragnar smiled widely, sitting up and nodding Athelstan towards the nearby chair. Athelstan sat down; the two of them stared at each other. It seemed as though they were both trying to memorise one another, as though they had been parted for too long, as though they had known each other so much longer. Where had this intensity sprung from? Surely only from the Lord?

 

“So, you have met Lagertha.”

 

Jarl Ragnar’s eyes were laughing now, no doubt because he knew well his wife’s great forthrightness. He did not look sorry for it. Athelstan could not help smiling a little because while he had been taken aback by Jarl Lagertha’s words and behaviour, he had not been appalled or hurt. He had found her striking; how she led her men, how she showed affection to Princess Aslaug. When Athelstan had spoken to Jarl Lagertha, he had felt as though his words had mattered.

 

Jarl Ragnar nodded as though he had read all of Athelstan’s thoughts from his expression, his smile shaped by his strength of feeling for Jarl Lagertha. Athelstan wondered how they behaved side by side, the power they both possessed, the confidence; it seemed to him that they might be like a thunder storm, brilliant and overwhelming and shocking. He found that he wanted to witness that, despite the fear he could feel brightening inside of him. This was the effect the Vikings had on him. Seeing Jarl Ragnar now, whole and well, made Athelstan feel so strongly heated, incredibly almost as though he did not care. The Vikings had been an answer to King Edwin’s prayers, could they be the answer to Athelstan's too? Showing him the way forward according to the Lord?

 

_Please, my Lord. Surely they are Your answer? Or are they to be a torment, a lesson, taking their warmth with them when they leave these shores?_

 

Jarl Ragnar frowned and without a word, reached for Athelstan’s hand. His grip was strong and Athelstan gasped softly at the feel of Jarl Ragnar’s skin against his. Another touch; Princess Aslaug, Jarl Lagertha and now Jarl Ragnar. Surely there was meaning there, surely. Jarl Ragnar’s skin was rough and callused, there was dirt and scars and his hand was very warm. Athelstan felt suspended in the moment, Jarl Ragnar studied him keenly. Athelstan felt like prey all over again.

 

But he did not retreat or run, not as he had done before. Absence had woven them closer together rather than pushing them apart. The river felt as though it was to be theirs.

 

_Please, my Lord._

 

“You’re afraid of me,” Jarl Ragnar stated.

 

Athelstan could not truthfully say that he was no longer afraid. Jarl Ragnar was still a powerful presence, he still caused Athelstan to feel as though he could not breathe properly, and he still caused a warm strength of feeling in Athelstan’s chest. Jarl Ragnar raised his free hand in the silence and pressed it against Athelstan’s cheek with a soft slap. His gaze was more intense than ever.

 

“I am a monster from your people’s stories but you talk with my family every day and you came when I sent for you. That is greater than fear.”

 

Athelstan’s mouth felt dry, he felt covered by Jarl Ragnar’s touch. He managed a tiny nod. Jarl Ragnar nodded back, he did not release Athelstan. His fingers began stroking Athelstan’s cheek, as though learning the texture.

 

“Your brothers did not pray for me.”

 

“They did, the Holy Father-.”

 

“It was not in their hearts.”

 

No, it wasn’t. Jarl Ragnar smirked as though amused, “What do they say of you now, the priest who is friends with monsters?”

 

Athelstan’s expression twisted and Jarl Ragnar laughed. He drew the two of them together so that his breath was hot against Athelstan’s face. Athelstan’s heartbeat was loud in every part of his body as his forehead touched Jarl Ragnar’s. Jarl Ragnar held him there and Athelstan did not fight him. How could he?

 

Jarl Ragnar’s hand touched one of the arm-bands that circled Athelstan’s wrists. He did not attempt to remove it. He shifted back slightly so that they could look at each other once more.

 

“Your vows?”

 

Athelstan nodded. Jarl Ragnar studied the arm-band for a moment, his fingers tracing the engraved patterns. Jarl Ragnar looked back at Athelstan then seemed to reach a conclusion. He leaned in; his eyes clear with question and intent. When Athelstan did not object or pull away, his mind and body feeling as though both were reeling and burning yet also as though he needed more of both, Jarl Ragnar kissed him. It could have been called a chaste kiss, only there was a slight bite of teeth and the sweep of tongue against Athelstan’s bottom lip.

 

The kiss was brief though and Jarl Ragnar fluidly pulled back, almost entirely releasing Athelstan. His fingers stayed linked around Athelstan’s wrist, as though knowing that Athelstan needed an anchor in the river. Athelstan was sure that his eyes were wide, that his skin showed the heat that he was feeling. Jarl Ragnar had kissed him and Athelstan had enjoyed it.

 

Jarl Ragnar did not speak, he continued to stare at Athelstan. Athelstan’s breathing was uneven, but he did not leave, he did not tell Jarl Ragnar that his sins was innumerable, that he had been punished already and would be again and again. Athelstan was rooted where he was. Was this how a bride felt? Jarl Ragnar, it was said, collected them.

 

There was movement and Jarl Ragnar slowly loosened his grip, letting go of Athelstan’s wrist. Athelstan almost leaned in but stopped himself. Jarl Ragnar looked amused and hungry. Athelstan swallowed. What did Jarl Ragnar expect? Did he know how his wives had touched and kissed Athelstan? Had they done so because he had told them to? Athelstan could not imagine so. Their touches had made heat flare within him; Jarl Ragnar’s kiss had only added to it and to Athelstan's desire, for this to be the Lord's answer and Athelstan's path. _Please, Lord._

 

Finally Jarl Ragnar spoke, “What stories do your people tell of me now?”

 

It sounded almost like a challenge or a distraction. Athelstan chose to answer gratefully.

 

“That you have been punished for your gods, that your brother will punish you further.”

 

A sharp smile flicked once across Jarl Ragnar’s face. He did not look worried at all. Athelstan wondered if he should not have said anything because he did not wish to cause problems for Jarl Ragnar or his family.

 

“My brother follows me.”

 

Something, some doubt, must have shown on Athelstan’s face because Jarl Ragnar’s expression became implacably intense. Athelstan felt as though a hot fist had gripped him from the inside out

 

“Whatever stories you are told, Rollo is loyal to his people and to me.”

 

Athelstan did not want to anger Jarl Ragnar, he didn’t say a word. Jarl Ragnar did not look happy but his stare did not leave Athelstan, as though Jarl Ragnar wanted his words to truly sink in. Then Jarl Ragnar smiled.

 

“You will teach my son, Björn, of this place and its people.”

 

Athelstan nodded; thinking of Jarl Ragnar’s other sons and how much he enjoyed teaching them. Björn was older but if he was as dedicated as Jarl Ragnar to the bond between the two lands, then perhaps he would enjoy his schooling. Athelstan wanted to continue strengthening the bridge between Northumberland and the Vikings. He would serve his King and his Lord in doing so.

 

There was a hot lick of amusement and challenge in Jarl Ragnar’s expression now; Athelstan’s chest shuddered in response.

 

“And what will you teach me, priest?”

 

Athelstan couldn’t form an answer. He stayed right where he was, his silent prayers continuing but their rhythm and contents had changed now and he could not regret that.

 

*

 

It was some time before Athelstan was able to speak to the Holy Father. He left Jarl Ragnar because Floki appeared and wanted to inspect Jarl Ragnar’s wounds and didn’t seem inclined to accept Athelstan’s help. When Athelstan left Jarl Ragnar's chambers, he was pounced on by Ubbe and Hvikserk. They were bright-eyed and happy and tugged at his arms insistently. Athelstan was not sorry to see them.

 

“The garden! Come on.”

 

Athelstan allowed himself to be pulled along, aware of people’s gazes as he passed. Outside, in the garden, Björn was practising with his sword against a couple of older Vikings. They were not merciful towards him, lunging and shouting and telling him bluntly when he made mistakes. Princess Aslaug was sat on the dry grass watching, cradling Ivar and talking quietly to a couple of her attendants. She smiled knowingly when she saw Athelstan, he wondered with warm cheeks if Jarl Ragnar’s kiss was somehow so obvious on his face. He could believe that Princess Aslaug could see it.

 

Jarl Lagertha was stood watching her son, though she left the teaching to other Vikings. She looked over Athelstan briefly before calling Torstein to spar with her. Athelstan was transfixed watching her, her hair flashed in the light and she moved so confidently, so sure of victory. She was like lightning, lightning in a thunder storm.

 

One of Princess Aslaug’s attendants placed Sigurd Snake-In-The-Eye in Athelstan’s arms. He smiled down at the baby, so striking, soft and warm. Princess Aslaug was sure that he would become a great warrior, like his father and her father before him. Athelstan could believe it. He could not imagine another destiny for the boy. What else could be the Lord’s plan?

 

Athelstan’s arm brushed against Princess Aslaug’s as at her indication, he sat down beside her. She pressed herself closer, as though she needed the contact. Athelstan did not deny her; her calm was much needed after his encounter with Jarl Ragnar. He could see clearly how their marriage worked, their opposite temperaments forging a powerful balanced union. Jarl Lagertha seemed an essential part of it too though, like Jarl Ragnar but entirely herself. Athelstan could not shake the feeling that they were blessed.

 

He dipped his head to examine Sigurd when a shadow fell over him. He looked up and up and found himself studying a man who had to be Rollo, brother to Jarl Ragnar, the traitor was apparently loyal even though many of Athelstan’s people thought otherwise. He looked very different to Jarl Ragnar; his hair was dark and so long that it reached his waist. He was physically more imposing and his eyes were hard, what had they seen to make them so? He possessed none of Jarl Ragnar’s overwhelming charisma.

 

Athelstan did not know what to say. Jarl Ragnar had been insistent that Rollo could be trusted but he had nearly killed his brother before, it was said that he had been jealous of the blessings Jarl Ragnar had received and had strove to prove himself better. It was said that he still wished to prove his own betterment by seeing his brother dead and the alliance with Northumberland taken in his name instead. Looking up at Rollo, Athelstan could believe it.

 

Princess Aslaug smiled a fraction as though wary, which told Athelstan a lot, “Athelstan has been teaching Ragnar’s sons of this land. He has become dear to them.”

 

Athelstan pinked at such praise; Rollo snorted and looked at Athelstan for a long measured moment before leaving decisively. Athelstan watched him take up axe and sword and throw himself into the sparring. He was clearly strong and did not seem overwhelmed by anyone’s efforts.

 

“Ragnar was pleased to see you?”

 

The question was innocuous but Athelstan’s heart jumped and he was sure that Princess Aslaug was smiling in a way that seemed like teasing. She did not mind that her husband had kissed him? Jarl Ragnar was already married to another. How many more waited for him across the water? Athelstan remembered how warm the kiss had been and how much he had enjoyed it. He felt so much and he should speak to the Holy Father and-.

 

“Athelstan.”

 

Princess Aslaug commanded his attention. She pressed her knee to his, her fingers managing to intertwine with his without disturbing either baby. She did not seem to care who saw. Athelstan needed her serenity, her steadiness, her knowledge.

 

“You believe that your god is with you?”

 

The unexpected question gained a quick definite answer, “Of course.”

 

“He has not abandoned you? Not even while you talk to us, when your people disapprove and claim we are cursed?”

 

Athelstan shook his head. “I know He is still with me, I...I just don’t know if I am in right in discerning His will, in what He wants me to do.”

 

Athelstan’s fingers twitched, he wanted to touch his lips, the imprint of Jarl Ragnar’s kiss. But equally he did not want to disturb Sigurd and he did not want to let go of Princess Aslaug. Princess Aslaug looked a touch knowing.

 

“But you do not feel cursed.”

 

No. Athelstan shook his head. For all the pain and confusion he had felt since the Vikings arrival, he did not feel punished or cursed. Perhaps this was all just a test, yet Athelstan was aiding in binding two lands together so surely he was supposed to be close to Jarl Ragnar, to his family, surely this feeling, this river was the Lord's guidance and Athelstan was meant to have this friendship, more of these touches? How could something so intense spring from anything other than the Lord?

 

And yet surely the Vikings would be leaving soon, for their land.

 

“I hope...”

 

_Please, my Lord._

 

Princess Aslaug’s face was unhindered and calm, so sure. Athelstan drank her in, his grip on her fingers tightening as she spoke,

 

“The gods will answer once you begin your journey.”

 

She leaned close and her mouth caught the very edge of his lips. Athelstan stilled, the kiss was gentle but resolute. It was not a regret, it was an instruction. Princess Aslaug righted herself again and hummed down at Ivar. Athelstan glanced around, he was surrounded by Vikings. Ubbe and Hvikserk were sparring and copying what the older Vikings were doing. Björn was talking with his mother and Rollo was glancing away.

 

“Your path,” he could not help saying. “It is...”

 

Princess Aslaug smiled again, warm and content. “I have my sons, my husband and my wife. The gods have blessed me and Ragnar's people.”

 

She sounded so sure and almost like she was extending an invitation. Before Athelstan could even grasp words to reply with, he was aware of another shadow falling over him. Björn had approached.

 

“My mother says you will teach me,” he stated, plain and expectant.

 

Athelstan nodded. Björn seemed much like Jarl Lagertha; so utterly confident and powerful. He did not look at Athelstan derisively; instead he sat down, dropping his axe and sword close by.

 

“I will listen.”

 

It was easily a command, which made Princess Aslaug smile. Athelstan cleared his throat, his arms still full of Sigurd, and continued along a path he did know – teaching others of his home, his people and his Lord. This much he knew. How much further would he swim? Athelstan was aware of his continuing desires; to spend time with the Vikings, with Jarl Ragnar and Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug and their children, to enjoy the comfort and heat that he found with them. He found, in a way he had never experienced before, that he really did want _more_.

 

Such a thought left him breathless and stunned. More of what exactly? He wasn't sure entirely, their touch, their company, their words, their family. He was only sure of the need inside of him; the heat of his skin against the coolness of his arm-bands. Athelstan was not inclined to pull away from them, he could not stop thinking of their touches, their kisses.

 

Surely this warm river inside of Athelstan, so familiar now, was the Lord's? A waterway to securing the two lands as allies, a way to bring the Lord to the Vikings. A frisson of raw nervous excitement coursed through Athelstan. Was this to be his journey? Athelstan could not say ‘no’, he could not be appalled or despairing, he could not ignore any of it. Honesty was what the Lord commanded. And this, even this, could be a command also. Athelstan was afraid but that wasn’t all he felt.

 

He had to speak to the Holy Father.

 

But first, he buried himself in words, his hand clinging to Princess Aslaug’s, his gaze tellingly focused away from her. Princess Aslaug squeezed his hand. Athelstan smiled faintly, he would do as he was commanded. He would do as his King and Holy Father wished. As he began to speak, he became increasingly aware that Rollo was staring at him.


	7. Please, Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains an incident of sexual assault. For more details of this warning, please read this chapter's end notes and let me know if you think the warning or rating need to change. Thank you.

 

 

 

When Athelstan finally saw the Holy Father, everyone was gathered in the grand hall, including Jarl Ragnar. The Jarl was sat at the large table, Princess Aslaug on one side of him and Jarl Lagertha on the other. Björn stood beside his mother and Rollo, silent and glowering, stood close by. Athelstan stood with his Brothers and tried not to stare. He was aware of how some of his Brothers were staring at him though.

 

The King was clearly pleased, “The Lord blesses you, Jarl Ragnar.”

 

Jarl Ragnar wore a faint amused smile, “The gods do not wish to meet me yet.”

 

There was some laughter from the Vikings who were clustered nearby; there wasn’t room for all of them. Many were still camping near the kingdom's borders, keeping watch in case of any straggling invaders. Athelstan tried to focus on the King; he had a good viewpoint, to the side, almost parallel to Jarl Ragnar’s party.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s reply had garnered him some looks and mutterings but Jarl Ragnar was unmoved. Ubbe and Hvikerk were stood near their mother, impatient but surprisingly quiet, as though they knew what was to come. Sigurd and Ivar were being tended to by Princess Aslaug’s attendants. Athelstan’s arms felt empty, when Hvikserk’s gaze met his, Athelstan couldn’t help smiling. Hvikserk tried to run over but Princess Aslaug prevented his flight. She talked to him quietly and then focused her own gaze on Athelstan. Athelstan felt a rich seam of warmth burst open inside of him once more. It felt like such a blessing, especially when Princess Aslaug looked upon him like that.

 

Was there fondness in her gaze? Athelstan felt the phantom touch of her kiss. Princess Aslaug nodded and Ubbe and Hvikserk rushed towards him. Athelstan was used to them barrelling against his legs by now; he only wobbled slightly and patted their shoulders. They whispered quietly to him in Norse and kept a hold on his robes. Somehow, it made Athelstan feel rooted and even more blessed. Beside Princess Aslaug's sons, his fear and worry felt much further away.

 

Ever since Jarl Ragnar’s kiss and his conversations with Princess Aslaug and Björn, that great river carrying Athelstan was continuing to make itself known. This had been his direction for some time now, the Lord was with him.

 

He could feel his Brothers’ disapproval but he kept his eyes fixed on his King.

 

“And what will you ask of me in return for all the help you have given Northumberland?” the King asked, a command for answers sheathed in a question.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s smile looked dangerous now. Athelstan kept his hands close to Ubbe and Hvikserk as Jarl Ragnar spoke,

 

“My men won your battle; they should be rewarded. There should gold enough for all of them.”

 

King Edwin took a moment to look at his counsellors. They murmured but the King eventually nodded, not appearing pained at such a term. It was likely, Athelstan thought, that a request for gold was expected but an effort was being made to appear magnanimous, to hold the most power.

 

There was a cheer from the Vikings and Rollo seemed happy too. There was a murmur among the King’s people but the King raised his hand for silence; he knew there was more to come. Jarl Ragnar had not chosen his own reward yet.

 

“And you, Jarl Ragnar, what do _you_ ask for being brought so close to your gods?”

 

Athelstan found that he was holding his breath, watching as Jarl Ragnar shifted slightly in his seat. His smile was almost triumphant and very greedy.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s gaze never left the King, “My sons have chosen for me.”

 

There was a tiny moment of silence, then there were gasps and mutterings that quickly became shouts. Athelstan's mouth fell open, his chest felt tight as though his breath had been stolen and his heart thundered so loudly. Everything around him felt distant and muted as his mind spun with joyful incredulous disbelief - he was to be Jarl Ragnar’s reward? He was to be taken across the water, he was to stay with Jarl Aslaug and his family, he was to...

 

He had wanted to be sure of the Lord's answer. Surely he now was. Surely.

 

Ubbe and Hvikserk jabbered at him in Norse, telling him there was room for him in Kattegat and they would teach him how to use a sword and...

 

Athelstan hadn’t wanted to imagine living without Jarl Ragnar and his family there beside him and now...now he didn’t have to. At least, if the King agreed.

 

Athelstan would have to leave behind the only home, the only family, the only life he’d ever known. He would have to live amongst heathens and warriors; he would live with Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug. He would...there would be many things expected of him. That was if he survived a journey across the water.

 

Athelstan would be a pilgrim to a foreign land. Despite the nerves and worry that he was now becoming aware of, he _wanted_ to be that pilgrim. It was as obvious as the warmth still glowing within him. He wanted this enormous change and dangerous voyage. He wanted it fiercely, if it meant he would remain with Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha, Princess Aslaug and their family. He wanted it in a way only the Lord could be at the root of, Athelstan truly believed that. How could he not?

 

His purpose, as it had been in some way since Jarl Ragnar had first talked to him, was to help bind the two lands, the two peoples together. His purpose and his happiness. It had to be.

 

_Thank you, my Lord._

 

“Athelstan.”

 

The Holy Father was calling him forward. Athelstan shook away his thoughts, the world becoming pin-sharp and bright again as he jostled Ubbe and Hvikserk forward with him. He didn’t like how some people were looking at them. Jarl Ragnar’s sons stayed trustingly close to him as Athelstan came to stand at the table, between the two groups. His heart thumped hard but he made sure to look only at his King.

 

The King studied him keenly, Athelstan kept his posture and gaze humble.

 

“You have been tutoring these guests of ours?” King Edwin asked.

 

Athelstan nodded, a smile curling his lips, Ubbe nudged at Athelstan’s leg. “They’re good pupils.”

 

Princess Aslaug smiled a private smile and Jarl Ragnar looked satisfied. The Holy Father looked at Athelstan carefully, perhaps he was praying too.

 

“You have kept your vows.”

 

Athelstan raised his wrists, his arm-bands obvious for all to see. The Holy Father nodded as though his thoughts had been confirmed. He did not seem upset or horrified.

 

“You would have this Brother to teach your sons?” asked the King, a challenge disguised with polite amused inquiry.

 

There was laughter among the Vikings. Jarl Lagertha’s mouth drew upwards in tolerant amusement and she shared a glance with Princess Aslaug that was heavy with meaning. Heat pulsed through Athelstan as he thought of touches and kisses. There was trepidation within him and some fear but that did not chase away the heat, the desire that he’d never felt before the Vikings. He swallowed dryly.

 

“To teach,” conceded Jarl Ragnar. “So they will know of this land and people and when the gods call us together once more, the bond between us will be strong.”

 

There was unrest amongst the crowd, Lord Betlic, a friend of Lord Magen, spoke up with great judgement.

 

“We have heard stories of your people, Jarl Ragnar. You would take this Brother as a bride.”

 

He said it as an accusation, words that had gone unsaid until now and they seemed to ring through the air. Jarl Ragnar still looked amused but he had been insulted and he would know that. Björn had a hand on his sheathed sword. Athelstan prayed.

 

“I would,” agreed Jarl Ragnar at last, simply and without shame. “He is a blessed man.”

 

Athelstan let out a soft breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear. He felt blessed, with Ubbe and Hvikserk crowding close to him and Jarl Ragnar stating his intent so baldly. Athelstan was desired, it was a strange quaking feeling. He did not believe he deserved it, he felt dizzy from it and from so many other things, but he did not run from it. He would not be alone in this riverbed. He would not.

 

People were muttering again but King Edwin lifted his hand and mutinous silence fell once more.

 

King Edwin’s gaze settled on Jarl Ragnar, two men of great power staring at each other. The tension was great. The King did not seem angry, only as though he wished to know more. Jarl Ragnar waited, so did everyone else.

 

“You will not choose another? One without a blessed calling?”

 

It was Jarl Lagertha who answered this time, polite but challenging, “He would no longer be a Brother if he left these shores?”

 

There was more unrest and the Holy Father stepped forward, “Without his Brothers...”

 

“If your Lord is as great as you claim, he will talk to Athelstan in Kattegat and Athelstan will hear him.”

 

The King raised an eyebrow, “You would not wish him to worship your gods?”

 

Jarl Ragnar flicked his fingers as though it was of little consequence to him but Athelstan saw Floki muttering with a hiss. Not every Viking would care so little for Athelstan’s choices. It did not dim the warmth within him though, for the Lord was always with him. Athelstan was so aware of that, especially now. Journeys were stretching out before him and Jarl Ragnar’s sons were huddled near him and through everything that was overwhelming him at thoughts of what was to come, Athelstan knew what he wanted. It seemed the Lord wanted it too, but did the King?

 

“Our gods will not be silent,” was Jarl Ragnar’s reply, like a light warning. “He is my price.”

 

There was finality to Jarl Ragnar’s tone. The King stared a moment longer and then turned to Athelstan. The force of his gaze was great; Athelstan doubted the King had known his name before now. Athelstan bowed deeply and waited for his King to speak.

 

He felt dizzy still and yet also rooted by the children who stood with him.

 

_Oh please, my Lord._

 

“And your blessed thoughts, Brother?”

 

There was a hint of mocking in the King’s words but Athelstan did not feel hurt. He understood.

 

“I would be honoured to bind our lands together and serve my King,” he said quietly.

 

The King looked pleased but there were hisses amongst the crowd and Lord Magen exchanged glances with some of his fellows. The Holy Father cleared his throat.

 

“This is a time for great prayer and consultation.”

 

The Brothers stood nearby murmured and nodded, though many looked displeased, as displeased as some of the nobles who stood at the King’s side of the table. Jarl Ragnar looked at Athelstan, his expression unashamed and hungry, which made the murmurings only grow. Princess Aslaug raised her chin.

 

“Thank you,” she said to Athelstan, glancing towards her sons.

 

Athelstan dipped into a replying bow. He was always happy to watch over Ubbe and Hvikserk. He was happy because it helped Princess Aslaug and because he enjoyed their company. Princess Aslaug gestured him closer, when he approached she touched his arm and he bent his head towards her to catch her words.

 

“A blessed man indeed.”

 

There was teasing and affection in her words that made Athelstan smile, bashful and breathless. Princess Aslaug drew him closer for what could have been an embrace, her cheek pressed to his briefly, before she released him, Ubbe and Hvikserk leaving Athelstan’s side to remain at hers. Jarl Ragnar watched Athelstan. Athelstan's insides felt full and warm and he couldn’t not approach the Jarl who had spoken such kind words about him, who had burst the river’s banks and who had first kindled such desire in Athelstan.

 

Jarl Ragnar touched one of Athelstan’s arm-bands, he caressed the engravings and Athelstan’s heated skin but that was all. His eyes held the most meaning – intensity and anticipation. Athelstan edged his fingers closer to Jarl Ragnar’s, brushing against his skin. Jarl Ragnar gripped his hand before Jarl Lagertha looked him over, her gaze cool and appraising but Athelstan could see the softness in her eyes. Was that for him? He was honoured and even more overwhelmed. She pressed a hand to his arm and then to his face, her touch was firm like a promise.

 

This was home to him, even more than the blessed isolation of his room or services and prayers with his Brothers. This was his journey; the Lord had carried him to it and now was aiming him along it. It was dizzying and it was what he wanted, what he _felt_ , so much. It was what the Lord wanted for him, what clearer answer could there be?

 

Bjorn nodded to him, amusement playing with his mouth. Some of the Vikings called rudely but Rollo looked disgruntled and resentful. He got to his feet abruptly and disappeared into the crowd. Athelstan’s eyes followed him because now worry was growing and now that Athelstan thought about it, what about the people who whispered so furiously about Jarl Ragnar and his people? Would Jarl Ragnar be allowed to leave?

 

The Holy Father approached, “We must talk, Athelstan.”

 

*

 

Athelstan was led to a smaller room where the Holy Father often prayed privately or prayed with the King. Athelstan lit a candle and knelt on the hard floor, thanking the Lord silently for His blessings and asking urgently for the path to stay clear ahead of him. The Holy Father prayed beside him. Then they both got to their feet.

 

The Holy Father looked at him, “You have always been wielded by the Lord, Athelstan. This will test you greatly.”

 

Athelstan dipped his head, trying to articulate what burned inside of him still, “The Lord is with me, Father. I can bind our lands together, with such allies our King can achieve so much.”

 

The Holy Father laid a hand against Athelstan’s shoulder. He looked very serious now.

 

“It is a great thing the Lord asks of you, Athelstan, to live in a land that does not see Him. Some would see it as a punishment. Even there, your vows will not leave you.”

 

“I know, Father,” Athelstan nodded; one hand touching an arm-band. His chest felt tight again. “But if I am to be a bride, do my vows not change?”

 

The Holy Father wore a far-off look in his eyes for a moment, then he squeezed Athelstan’s shoulder. There seemed to be a story buried in his posture.

 

“Your vows, to be the Lord’s hands and feet, will never change. If you truly wish to be a bride, then new vows will simply join them.”

 

Athelstan breathed out, something inside of him felt looser. He might have been carried along by the Lord, by Jarl Ragnar and his family, but he still had no wish to dishonour all that he had held dear for so long.

 

The Holy Father's gaze examined him, “You’ve prayed about this?”

 

“Endlessly.”

 

The Holy Father smiled slightly at Athelstan’s fervent answer. “I never foresaw such path for you but it is the Lord who decides such things. Jarl Ragnar’s mind is made up and if this alliance is to hold, you will serve your Lord and your King.”

 

Athelstan nodded, though his thoughts were still edged with worry, “Lord Magen is against such a bond.”

 

The Holy Father nodded, his expression tellingly troubled. It did not ease Athelstan. “He is not the only one who believes we will be consumed by darkness if we ally ourselves with the Vikings.”

 

Athelstan had heard the disapproving whispers; he’d heard his own name among them. “What do you believe, Father?”

 

“I believe the Lord is greater than any darkness and that He uses mighty weapons, weapons we cannot always forge alone.”

 

Athelstan became lost in thought for a moment. He knew where he wanted to be, where he felt the Lord was taking him, but he knew that others did not see what he did. Why hadn’t the Lord granted such revelations to them too? Rollo, Lord Magen and other nobles and servants and Brothers who were resentful and angry and disapproving could cause so much pain and damage.

 

Athelstan folded his hands in prayer. The Holy Father did the same.

 

*

 

The next few days were as a blur to Athelstan. He still worked in the garden and tutored Björn and Ubbe and Hvikserk. He still sat with Princess Aslaug, her hand now often folded purposefully around his. Jarl Lagertha frequently touched him, tousling her fingers through his hair, pressing her hand to his cheek. Her eyes were always intent and full of the strongest feeling. Jarl Ragnar was still resting, his wounds still healing. They would not leave Northumberland yet.

Athelstan sat with Jarl Ragnar and talked to him, answering and asking questions. Jarl Ragnar laughed when Athelstan asked about his other wives; he only had two but such stories grew and aided his reputation. Jarl Ragnar always kissed him, as did Princess Aslaug and Jarl Lagertha. The kisses all felt like promises, of what was to come. It was like they were leading Athelstan somewhere. It was his journey, as Princess Aslaug had said, his journey blessed by the Lord.

 

He leaned into their touches and tentatively returned their kisses, his heartbeat wild and the warmth inside him stoking hotter.

 

_Thank you, Lord._

 

Athelstan prayed and spent time with the other Vikings, wanting to get to know those who were important to Jarl Ragnar and his family. Torstein was friendly enough but Rollo was distant with a darkening tense expression and Floki was only interested in mocking Athelstan for his god. But Athelstan was still the only man aside from the Vikings that Floki allowed into Jarl Ragnar’s chambers.

 

Athelstan listened as each matter between the Vikings and the people of Northumberland was hammered out. Jarl Ragnar expected to bind Athelstan to him in Kattegat, he knew that not all of King Edwin's subjects approved of the match. The Holy Father still wished to bless the bond himself before the Lord. Both ideas stirred disapproval in the stronghold even more powerfully than before.

 

Athelstan prayed harder.

 

Then one day, he was walking through the stronghold before the next service began when suddenly he was grabbed and pulled through a nearby doorway.

 

“What do you want? Let me go, I am a Brother!”

 

He tried to resist the strong grasps but he could not. He was shoved up against a wall and found himself facing three hooded figures and was that a third near the doorway? He didn't recognise any of them, not even when they spoke. They spoke in crude Norse in a way that despite the situation caught Athelstan's attention. He couldn't recall any of the Vikings speaking like that. Were they truly Vikings?

 

A hand thumped hard against his chest, Athelstan gasped. What was going on?

 

“Jarl Ragnar deserves better than this.”

 

“This one claims he loves his god.”

 

“He must be punished.”

 

Then one of them began tearing at Athelstan's robes, hissing out curses that didn't sound right at all. They weren't Vikings, Athelstan registered, he was sure of that now. But they were hurting him, their fingernails were breaking his skin and now they were trying to get beneath his robes. Panic clawed up his throat and shook his limbs.

 

_Oh Lord, help me! Send me Your deliverance!_

 

He tried to fight. He tried to push away the bodies, those that were marking him, touching him in a way that he'd never been touched before. This was not comfort, this was an invasion. Terror was lighting every inch of him now because they were not letting him go, they were serious, they were intent on this, on hurting him on a level that shocked Athelstan. He gasped.

 

“No, please. Please let me go!”

 

There was a laugh that send a chill through him and a hand plunged past his undergarment and grasped him. Athelstan felt sick and utterly consumed by fear and struggled even harder. His vows were what mattered most, they were what the Lord had always asked of him so where was his deliverance, where was his help from the Lord?

 

_Oh, Lord, please! Please help me._

 

“You don't deserve this.”

 

A hand grasped one of his arm-bands. Athelstan tried to struggle out of their grip but they twisted and pulled and when they swung hard, the arm-band broke, metal dropping hard to the ground. Athelstan's heart plummeted as did his stomach.

 

_Please, Lord._

 

He still struggled because the invaders were still holding him. If they weren't Norse, they must be some of Athelstan's own people, but why? Why were they doing this? The sick feeling inside of Athelstan only grew. The hand squeezed him painfully, it hurt so much. He could feel his eyes dampening dramatically. Why was this happening? What purpose did it serve? Why was the Lord allowing it?

 

There was a sudden rush of air and then the hooded figure at the door was shoved aside. Rollo entered the room, an axe in his hand. The men holding Athelstan froze, then one shoved Athelstan towards Rollo. Athelstan stumbled, dizzying relief and horror mingling vaguely through him. What fresh fire was he being pushed into? Was Rollo behind this?

 

_Whatever stories you are told..._

 

His body hurt all over. Then the hooded figures ran out, faint triumphant smiles visible, mutterings audible about a better outcome, about what Athelstan deserved. Athelstan stared after them, then up at Rollo. Rollo held his arm in a firm grip but that was all he held. He looked Athelstan over and then tugged him towards the door.

 

Athelstan's heart squeezed in his throat. Rollo was always resentful and much talked about, he was surely plotting against his brother. But Jarl Ragnar trusted him and had told Athelstan to do the same. Athelstan thought of the aches that now existed in so many parts of his body, he thought about the sheer terror he'd felt, the clawing grasping panic.

 

Rollo had not made him feel any of those things. And Jarl Ragnar trusted him.

 

Athelstan didn't fight Rollo's grip as they walked through the stronghold. He didn't feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **FURTHER WARNING**  
>  \- Athelstan is grabbed and pinned against a wall by several strangers, they shove their hands under his clothes against his consent and one of them grabs his cock, again against Athelstan's consent. Nothing more occurs but may trigger some.


	8. Tell Me Of Valhalla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mention and talk of an attempted sexual assault suffered by a character in the previous chapter.

 

 

 

Athelstan kept his head lowered, his heart thumping fast for a very different reason now. He stared at his empty wrist. Rollo kept a hand clamped to Athelstan's arm, making sure that Athelstan kept moving. Athelstan let him.

 

Athelstan felt cold inside, he ached all over. He couldn’t think about what had almost happened or about what had actually occurred. Some of his own people, their eyes full of hate, they had tried to...they had almost...

 

Athelstan gasped in a breath.

 

Rollo didn’t say a word, not until they reached the doors of great hall. The guards outside looked startled by what they saw and gripped their swords as though they could stop what had already come to pass. Rollo shook his head and pushed past them, refusing to let them stop him. Athelstan followed, still silent, still dazed, still aching.

 

Inside the great hall, King Edwin was meeting with Jarl Ragnar, each sat with advisers around the table again. There were servants and the Holy Father and now there were gasps. Athelstan could taste blood. He hoped Rollo wouldn’t let go of him.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” the King’s voice rose.

 

His advisers were bristling and some were even looking smug, as though their worst fears had been confirmed and they were glad of it. Athelstan bit down on a pained groan, on a cold breath. Princess Aslaug wasn’t there, how he yearned for her centred serenity, her sureness and touch. Jarl Lagertha was staring at him, anger burning in her gaze, her mouth set hard, and Jarl Ragnar looked consumed by similar feelings, as though if he were not still healing, he would leap from his chair with sword in hand to set this right. His eyes roved Athelstan as though he could see every inch of him, as though he wanted to. Athelstan listed in their direction but could not move his feet. Rollo was holding him up.

Athelstan could not think of the chill that engulfed him, the emptiness of his wrist, the pain across his thighs, the marks gouged into his skin, the intent that still felt palpable all over. He shuddered. He couldn’t, he couldn’t.

 

He still felt so cold, where had that familiar warmth gone? Had it been stolen like so much else had been in those shuddering moments? He became aware of words being thrown like weapons.

 

“...drag him in here like a spoiled prize. Your intentions against your brother have been clear for some time. But this...”

 

They thought that Rollo had done this. Jarl Ragnar was getting angry, telling Rollo in Norse what was being said of him and Athelstan recalled how the perpetrators had run off as soon as they’d seen Rollo, how they had smiled. This could have become their intention once their attack had not been seen through - the bond between lands would be broken because accusations about Rollo would reflect on Jarl Ragnar who had claimed that Rollo could be trusted and...

 

“It wasn’t him.”

 

Athelstan broke his silence. Jarl Ragnar turned his head; Björn looked mulishly like his father, his hand clenched around his sword’s hilt. Athelstan kept his attention on King Edwin.

 

“They were not Vikings.”

 

There was a scandalised whisper around the table beside the King. He looked at Athelstan intently.

 

“They?”

 

Athelstan swallowed and forced himself to speak. He could not stand silent and let all this work, the Lord’s work, be broken by those who loathed the Vikings and did not wish for peace with them.

 

“Three men, maybe four, they dragged me away and tried to...they spoke Norse but it was not their language. They said I was to be punished for agreeing to be bound to Jarl Ragnar. They broke one of my arm-bands and then...then Rollo stopped them.”

 

There were more murmurs, Athelstan could hear suggestions that he wasn’t in his right mind, that clearly the Vikings were behind such an outrage, that Rollo could have been there the whole time and was now playing saviour. Athelstan shook his head; how could people be so blind? How could the Lord have let this happen?

 

Athelstan didn’t look at the Holy Father.

 

“This is how your people are treated?” asked Jarl Lagertha, cold fury lockin around her words. “This is how you make allies?”

 

Jarl Ragnar looked again at Athelstan, his gaze touching him like comfort, before he turned back to the King. “We leave in two days.”

 

“Our healers can.-“

 

Athelstan flinched; Rollo muttered something foul in Norse. He didn’t let go of Athelstan.

 

Jarl Lagertha rose to her feet, every inch of her wrathful. “The bond stands between us still. But this will be remembered.”

 

Anger burned in Jarl Ragnar’s eyes, “They will be found.”

 

He turned his gaze to Björn who looked pleased and nodded. Jarl Ragnar slowly got to his feet and moved decisively towards Athelstan to bracket his empty side, an arm firmly around Athelstan's waist, perhaps for both their sakes. A moment later, Jarl Lagertha replaced Rollo. Athelstan let out a breath at their touch; it was so different to the recent memory that clambered hurtfully in his head. It was them. He still felt cold but not without comfort.

 

Rollo stepped away, towards Björn. He tossed a look towards Jarl Ragnar, a dark twist of a smirk, “We will have sport, brother.”

 

“Bring them to their King,” Jarl Ragnar told him. “For him to see the truth.”

 

Athelstan didn’t look at anyone else. He watched Rollo leave, wishing he knew how to thank the man for such an unexpected rescue. The whispers had not been true – Rollo had not taken such a chance to hurt his brother, to crush the bond between lands, to weaken Jarl Ragnar before ending him. Jarl Ragnar had been right about his brother so why had Rollo behaved as he had, so resentfully? Why had he often spoken to those that wished for the Vikings to be enemies of Northumberland?

 

Such thoughts were a distraction and Athelstan plunged into them. He tried to pray but his tongue felt numb and the words would not flow as they had done before. The Lord had seen him rescued from such an appalling moment but He had also allowed it to happen in the first place.

 

Athelstan was being moved, he shied away when he saw others darting towards him. Jarl Lagertha squeezed a hand firmly at his hip and murmured under her breath. Athelstan glanced up but everything seemed to blur and people were staring so he looked down again and let Jarl Ragnar and Jarl Lagertha move him as they deemed fit. They walked away from the great hall until they reached Jarl Ragnar’s chambers. Jarl Ragnar told Torstein to ensure that no one else entered.

 

There was something soft under Athelstan’s hands. He blinked; he was sat on Jarl Ragnar’s bed, with no memory of entering or crossing the room or taking such a seat. Princess Aslaug was sat beside him, looking at him with great focused concern. Her hand rose slowly to touch his face; Athelstan jolted into her touch and licked his dry lips. Something moved soothingly amongst the chill that’d consumed him. He pressed his own hand to Princess Aslaug’s. It was a firmer grip than he’d ever used with her before. It was need that drove him, to know that she was really there, to gain comfort that he’d always gained from her before, to drive away the cold.

 

Princess Aslaug didn’t look away, rather she moved closer. Aslaug could see his bare wrist; he’d worn an arm-band around it for so long. They’d torn it from him because in their eyes, he’d betrayed his people and deserved to be punished.

 

Athelstan shifted, wishing he wasn’t so aware of the pain that now marked his body, vivid reminders of what had happened to him and what they’d tried to do. Athelstan had been unwilling. His own people had not cared; they had tried to take what he had not been willing to give. But he still trusted Princess Aslaug’s touch, so unlike theirs, he still _needed_ it. How else would he feel steady now? His wrist was still bare.

 

He was aware of Jarl Lagertha and Jarl Ragnar nearby, talking quietly. It was a great stirring comfort. Jarl Ragnar’s infant sons were not present, who was caring for them? Athelstan shivered, his skin hurt. He remembered hands, clawing and scornful. He remembered eyes full of hate. He remembered his arm-band in pieces, falling to the floor.

 

“It’s gone,” he murmured bleakly.

 

Princess Aslaug moved closer, her leg pressing to his. It felt wonderful. Athelstan let out another breath.

 

“But you’re here,” Princess Aslaug reminded him softly.

 

She placed a hand against his thigh, grounding him, keeping him in the moment. Athelstan pushed into her touch, her warmth, until his body bowed towards her. His head touched hers, his hair grazing her skin. He felt such relief when her body curved into his, his face turned away from the world. Princess Aslaug kissed the top of his head and slowly drew him down onto the bed so that they lay beside one another. Athelstan rested against her, completely unresisting when she tucked him close. He inhaled her scent, her nearness. Her touch was firm but imbued with great care. And she was so warm.

 

It was exactly what he needed. Without pause, he kissed her shoulder, gratitude clear in his uncharacteristic boldness. Perhaps Princess Aslaug was praying to her gods, Athelstan didn’t care. He was here, with her, with Jarl Ragnar and Jarl Lagertha.

 

Athelstan’s tongue and prayerful thoughts felt cumbersome and distant now, as though they weren’t his anymore. He still did not know why the Lord had allowed such an act to take place; to show the King and everyone else what danger lurked within his stronghold? That the King was not obeyed as stridently as he should be? Athelstan had been a tool for the Lord, as he always had been, but it had never felt so cruel before.

 

He was aware of someone moving and then Jarl Lagertha stood over him, an unreadable look in her eyes. There was a longing inside of Athelstan that he could not put into words. His fingers twitched.

 

“They touched you.”

 

Jarl Lagertha spoke what others had not. Athelstan tensed, the cold inside of him more painful than ever. He couldn’t think of it, of what had happened, but Jarl Lagertha’s gaze commanded that he do so. Princess Aslaug stayed steady and calm beside him as Jarl Ragnar joined Jarl Lagertha, his expression matching hers – they both wanted to know.

 

Athelstan swallowed and nodded jerkily, “They...demanded.”

 

His hand fluttered beneath his waist meaningfully. Jarl Ragnar looked racked with anger, Jarl Lagertha the same. She pushed a little closer, her concern palpable as her hand closed around his. Athelstan closed his eyes for a moment and drank in her touch.

 

Jarl Lagertha sat down on the bed, her body tense with memories. Athelstan could feel his own experience thick against his skin.

 

“But you want us to touch you.” Jarl Lagertha stated, a question clear in her tone.

 

“Please,” Athelstan replied quickly, without hesitation.

 

He knew what he needed, what the Lord had provided. Jarl Lagertha immediately lay down beside him and stroked her fingers continually through his curling hair. She pressed close and Athelstan felt warmed.

 

Jarl Ragnar sat down heavily. He closed a hand around Athelstan’s empty wrist.

 

“Rollo stopped them.”

 

Athelstan nodded. There was so much he couldn’t say; about how he’d tried to fight against the men who’d pinned him tight against the wall, how sickened and frightened he’d been by their angry invasive touch, how helpless he’d felt.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s frown deepened, as though he had seen Athelstan’s thoughts on his face, and leaned down to kiss Athelstan, it was a firm kiss but Athelstan found it soothing. It was unmistakably Jarl Ragnar, the men who had hurt Athelstan hadn’t stolen anything from his lips. Athelstan kissed back, ragged need clear in his reciprocation. Jarl Ragnar squeezed his wrist and continued to kiss him, licking at Athelstan’s bottom lip, deepening the embrace. Athelstan could feel Jarl Ragnar’s long braids against his skin. He wound his fingers through them, as though they were an anchor.

 

It was only once the kiss ended that Athelstan realised he had begun to cry.

 

Tears ran freely down his cheeks. Jarl Ragnar smoothed some away. Princess Aslaug hummed softly as though summoning something through song. Jarl Lagertha said nothing but remained a steady warm near presence. All three of them were still a river that Athelstan wanted to drown in.

 

He didn’t know what to say.

 

Jarl Ragnar made a place for himself across Athelstan’s legs and upper body, a barrier against the rest of the world. It didn’t look comfortable but he did not move. He kissed the flat of Athelstan’s chest, his hand still resting around Athelstan’s wrist. Jarl Lagertha tugged hard at her husband’s hair and leaned over Athelstan to kiss her wife with the kind of softened affection that Athelstan didn't usually associate with Jarl Lagertha. He liked all that she chose to show him.

 

Jarl Lagertha lay down again and wiped more of Athelstan’s tears from his cheeks. She did not stare at him with disapproval or tell him to stop crying. She seemed to know all that he wasn’t saying. Of course she did. Athelstan reached with a hesitant hand and when Jarl Lagertha didn’t stop him, brushed grateful fingers against her chin and neck, as though reassuring himself of her near presence. Jarl Lagertha bent her head to kiss his hand.

 

Jarl Ragnar tilted his own head slightly, his eyes a focused light that Athelstan was constantly drawn to.

 

“You are safe, priest.”

 

Athelstan’s tears did not stop and often he twitched or trembled, another sharp memory splintering through him, but he continued to drink in the presence of Jarl Ragnar, Princess Aslaug and Jarl Lagertha. They were with him and he felt safer and warmer. He was with them too.

 

He found himself drifting into sleep. Whenever he jerked awake, his heart racing, someone woke with him, touching and calming him. They were not touches that invaded his dreams, rather ones he had come to know and crave. He fell back to sleep, wishing hard for full immersion.

 

*

 

The chamber had darkened and become light again by the time Athelstan woke and actually felt able to move. Jarl Lagertha was absent and Jarl Ragnar had crawled into the warm hollow that she had left behind. His bristly chin was digging into Athelstan’s shoulder, his arm draped possessively around Athelstand’s waist. Princess Aslaug was awake and listening to the sounds emerging from the next door chamber – it was Ubbe and Hvikserk, talking to Jarl Lagertha. There were sleepy cries from Sigurd and Ivar too.

 

Princess Aslaug turned when she sensed Athelstan waking and smiled quietly, leaning in to kiss him, her affection running through in a way that made Athelstan’s heartbeat flutter. He found himself smiling a bit too.

 

“Your Brothers called for you, for morning service,” Princess Aslaug told him.

 

Athelstan’s expression creased; how many of his Brothers had come looking for him? It was a kind comforting thought but Athelstan was sure that many had refused to look for him. He was ruined in the eyes of many now, because of his choice, because of what had happened and the whispers that had grown around it.

 

The Lord had allowed that to happen. For a greater purpose but He had still allowed such pain and terror. Athelstan had always known he would suffer for the Lord, but not like that, not so viciously.

 

“I don’t know if I can talk to the Lord as I did before.”

 

Princess Aslaug looked at him steadily, “You have not prayed?”

 

Athelstan carefully shrugged one shoulder, he was aware of how his skin now pulled against his bones.

 

“I prayed then and they did not stop.”

 

“But Rollo was there.”

 

Athelstan glanced at her. True, Rollo had prevented even worse befalling him, the Lord using every tool available, but it was not something Athelstan had expected to hear from Princess Aslaug. Did their gods use people so too?

 

He nodded slowly, “Rollo was there.”

 

“And you are here, with us, as the gods always intended.”

 

Princess Aslaug sat up, appearing unsurprised with Jarl Ragnar shifted half-awake, tugging Athelstan closer and pressed teeth-scraping kisses to Athelstan’s neck. Heat scorched through Athelstan and he instinctively pressed his legs together. Some things he still could not think about. He knew that he wanted their touch and that he wanted more of how they made him feel. But when it came to the kind of stories he had heard in the stronghold, he did not know if that could ever lie in his heart.

 

Would Jarl Ragnar and his wives be so happy with their prize if they realised the limits he possessed even away from his Brothers? He was consumed by harsh painful memories now too, not just by the lifelong lessons of his faith.

 

Princess Aslaug tipped his face towards her and kissed him, as her husband continued to press kisses to Athelstan’s neck.

 

“I cannot-.”

 

“Then you won’t,” Princess Aslaug replied simply, as though everything was clear to her. “You lie with us now.”

 

“It isn’t the same thing.”

 

Jarl Ragnar’s hand brushed at Athelstan’s side. His fingers touched a tender spot, Athelstan tensed. Jarl Ragnar’s kisses stopped.

 

“It isn’t.”

 

He kissed a spot close to Athelstan’s ear and then sat up, helping Athelstan do the same. He felt sore all over and curiously hollow. Neither Princess Aslaug or Jarl Ragnar let go of him. Athelstan thought that he might have been shaking slightly.

 

Jarl Ragnar pressed a hand to Athelstan’s stomach, kindling heat through Athelstan’s veins once more. Why did his body feel so heated and responsive one moment and then so fearful, cold and tense the next?

 

Jarl Ragnar’s gaze was bright and fierce, “They don’t have you.”

 

They didn’t. Athelstan let out a breath like the smallest movement of relief. He was here; he knew, without any doubt, that the Vikings wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He thought of their swords, the stories that were told of blood spilled, how angry they had looked upon hearing of what had happened to him. He felt a sharp moment of gladness, he only felt partially sorry for it.

 

He looked at Princess Aslaug, at Jarl Ragnar. They were tethering him and keeping him warm and safe.

 

Jarl Ragnar met his gaze and spread a hand across Athelstan’s cheek, dropping it slightly to reach Athelstan’s neck. Jarl Ragnar’s skin felt hot and rough and he held Athelstan firmly in place. Princess Aslaug’s hands held Athelstan’s hips and he could feel her quiet amused smile, her encompassing calm. He was so glad of them both, he was blessed.

 

They made everything sound so simple. They wanted him – even desired him – and so they had asked for him. Athelstan shook his head but accepted their kisses. He wanted them too, but it wasn't so simple for him, maybe it never would be. He needed them to truly comprehend that.

 

“I don’t know what I want,” he confessed quietly.

 

Princess Aslaug guided Athelstan into looking at her, her hand taking the place of Jarl Ragnar’s. Her touch was just as firm though her hands were softer. Her gaze was clear and utterly convinced.

 

“Then we will find out together,” she told him simply.

 

Something crumbled inside of Athelstan and he could feel Jarl Ragnar bolstering him. How could they offer so much so easily? He had seen how Vikings behaved, how obvious their avaricious natures were. Surely he would only disappoint? But Princess Aslaug kissed him with a hunger that surprised and heated him and Jarl Ragnar curled closer to talk hotly and quietly in Athelstan’s ear.

 

“Perhaps you will see something you like when you watch us.”

 

Athelstan’s eyes widened; his mind suddenly alive and Jarl Ragnar growled and dipped around Athelstan to kiss him intensely. Because of Athelstan’s reaction to Jarl Ragnar’s idea? _Oh._

 

Something uncurled inside of Athelstan, through the cold.

 

A door opened and Ubbe and Hvikserk rushed in, happy and tumbling together. Jarl Lagertha followed, her gaze immediately fixing onto Athelstan. Her smile was significant and warm when she spied him between her husband and wife, being held and embraced so.

 

“You’re hurt,” Ubbe stated, looking at Athelstan with a frown.

 

Athelstan glanced downwards; he was still wearing his Brotherhood robe but marks were visible on his exposed skin, marks that he’d been steadfastly ignoring. The cold was encroaching again and so was the pain but he was still warm, between Jarl Ragnar and Princess Aslaug. He was still being held. He nodded.

 

“I am.”

 

“You need a sword,” Hvikserk told him.

 

Athelstan’s expression tightened and his stomach rolled, “But your uncle has one and so does your brother.”

 

“And they’ve gone hunting,” Jarl Lagertha took over the conversation, turning to an attendant. “We will eat in here.”

 

The attendant didn’t seem to see anything strange in such a request. Hvikserk and Ubbe clambered up onto the bed, full of stories already, and Athelstan could hear Sigurd and Ivar before they were carried into the room. Jarl Lagertha touched both babies before directing their nurses towards the bed. Athelstan was handed Ivar, whose legs were still misshapen, still considered a curse. Gazing down at him, Athelstan felt as though he might know such a feeling.

 

Jarl Ragnar was holding Sigurd and Princess Aslaug was bending past Athelstan to greet her son. The room was full of chatter and warmth. Athelstan soaked it all in. Ubbe and Hvikserk were talking to him, wanting to tell him about what they had seen only that morning. As food was carried in, Athelstan thought briefly of the prayers he had always said prior to eating – blessing the food, thanking the Lord.

 

He was very aware of the marks on his skin, of the pain that had not left him, of the cold that clenched his heart.

 

He turned his head deliberately towards the boys, “You were going to tell me more of Valhalla.”

 

Ivar gurgled. Ubbe and Hvikserk began to talk again, their eyes alight with stories that they’d always known. Jarl Lagertha ran a hand down Athelstan’s back before scooping Sigurd up out of Jarl Ragnar’s arms. Athelstan leaned against Jarl Ragnar’s shoulder and felt Jarl Ragnar wrap purposeful fingers around Athelstan’s wrist once more. He breathed in and kept Ivar safe in his arms.


	9. Into Touch

 

 

 

Athelstan stayed silent. He watched as Princess Aslaug took over the storytelling from her sons, embellishing and lengthening the tales. They were still fascinating to hear, Athelstan was glad to lose himself in them. He found he always wanted to hear more of these strange powerful gods and their misdeeds. At one point, Ivar broke into cries but Athelstan jostled the baby gently with soft words, not as worried as he once would have been. There were other perils on his mind now. Jarl Lagertha was keen-eyed and her touch felt affectionate when she pressed against his back.

 

None of them let him go; their touches lingering. Athelstan drank them in.

 

He ate too, hard chunks of cheese, fresher bread, cold smoked meats. He was starving, when had he last eaten? He was glad to fill his stomach again. The children ate as they talked, Hvikserk gesturing with a wooden sword, Ubbe raising a fist. Jarl Ragnar looked proud of them. Athelstan wondered how Björn was doing.

 

Björn was hunting.

 

Athelstan paused but forced himself to eat a little more. His hunger did not seem as consuming as before. An attendant took Ivar from him. Princess Aslaug glanced his way and seemed to understand his thoughts in a moment. Because of what her gods had told her? Athelstan could believe that, maybe he wanted to.

 

Somewhere in the stronghold, a bell was sounding – a call to prayer. Athelstan shifted but he did not leave the room. He thought of a hall lit by candles, his Brothers gathering to thank and praise the Lord, to ask for His will to be done and for them to be His vessels. The Holy Father would lead them, King Edwin would be present. Such a scene was so familiar to Athelstan.

 

Part of him yearned for that familiar comfort and joy but Athelstan’s stomach tightened; not all of his Brothers would welcome him now and not all of him would welcome the Lord. He wanted to but he could not.

 

He folded his hands, his breakfast abandoned. Jarl Lagertha’s hands were strong at his shoulders. He could feel her hair brush against his cheek as she kissed her husband. They were hungry for each other and unashamed in displaying that. Heat burned through Athelstan, he felt as though he should look away so he did but he could not help glancing at them. He had thought of them as a storm and he could see that in them once more, the power, the crackle of thunder.

 

Jarl Ragnar had been right – Athelstan did see something he liked when he looked at them. That heat flooded through him again. Athelstan squeezed his legs together with a sudden jerk and hissed at the resulting pain.

 

Princess Aslaug told her sons that they should practice with their swords, that they should listen to Leif. Athelstan watched them leave, learning so young how to fight their enemies, their baby brothers being carried after them. Athelstan could feel eyes upon him. He didn’t try to escape them.

 

Why would he? They hadn’t abandoned him; they had only held him closer.

 

“How much does it hurt?” Princess Aslaug asked, her hand touching a reddened scrap that ran across his forearm.

 

Athelstan didn’t know how to answer. It hurt all over his body. He had long been taught that his body, his personal suffering, did not matter. All that mattered was the glory given to his Lord and King. Athelstan had always lived by that. Of course it was how it should be. He was only a tool for the Lord. He could still believe that, he still wanted to bring honour and glory to his King and to the Lord who had sent Rollo to him in his time of need.

 

But this pain was so deep past his skin, it wrenched at parts of him that he’d always believed would remain untouched. Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug managed to touch such parts of him in an altogether different manner.

 

Princess Aslaug nodded, resolved. She drew back Athelstan’s sleeve and ran her fingers over the revealed marks. She met Athelstan’s gaze. These were not going to be ignored. Athelstan’s throat felt full, a feeling that only increased when Jarl Ragnar took hold of his other sleeve. Athelstan’s heart ran fast again.

 

“We need to see what has been done,” Jarl Ragnar told him.

 

“So that it will not be done again,” added Jarl Lagertha

 

Athelstan felt tense at the thought; he rarely if ever disrobed. But Jarl Lagertha retrieved several lengths of cloth and a bowl of water from atop a chest near the door. She looked at Athelstan unblinkingly, as though her intentions were obvious. To heal perhaps, to comfort. There was no heat in anyone’s gaze, no smirking, no delight. Everyone was serious.

 

Athelstan’s body ached. He did not want to refuse their help and to leave pain unattended was foolish, Athelstan had heard stories and had seen many injured who had needed comfort. He trusted Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug. They would not...they wouldn’t.

 

Athelstan took a deep breath and untied the leather and metal that circled his waist. He didn’t know where to look, he didn’t want to examine his own body, to see such vivid signs of what had happened and he didn’t want to look at Jarl Ragnar or his wives. His heart felt like it was trembling in his throat. He managed to stare at the door as Jarl Ragnar helped ease the robe over Athelstan’s head.

 

He did not remove his undergarments. No one asked him to.

 

He heard someone let out a breath, then warm fingers began exploring his arms and chest, firm but slow. It was a touch that he valued and clung to. It was not invasive or acquisitive, aggressive at the expense of all else.

 

Athelstan focused on it, on the care behind it, on the warmth that resided in him beside the cold. Princess Aslaug touched his chin, seeking his attention. His gaze slid unerringly towards her. Her smile was slight and completely true. She cradled his chin and pressed close so that their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled. Athelstan felt a wet touch at his back, Jarl Lagertha?

 

Princess Aslaug kissed him lingeringly, as though she wanted to remember the moment. Her eyes were warm and certain and Athelstan felt especially captivated by the affection in them. How could he deserve that? Princess Aslaug didn’t offer any answers, instead she eased back to retrieve a wet cloth of her own, beginning to run it down his arm, paying particular attention to his elbow. Athelstan closed his eyes.

 

Jarl Ragnar moved so that his legs almost bracketed Athelstan. His hands smoothed across Athelstan’s skin, like he was learning it. He was making sure that he knew which parts of Athelstan hurt, Athelstan realised. He twitched but he did not flinch. There were tender spots high across his chest, banding his arms, on the side of his face, and at the height of his thighs. Jarl Ragnar touched the latter through the thin cloth of Athelstan’s undergarments. Athelstan remembered the sharp horrified pain, how he’d known then what was intended and how he wouldn’t have been able to stop them.

 

He had made a vow. His own people hadn’t cared.

 

He felt a kiss upon his thigh and opened his eyes in shock. Jarl Ragnar lifted his head, his braided hair running across Athelstan’s skin. He did not kiss Athelstan's thigh again, now he held Athelstan’s gaze and securely placed a hand at Athelstan’s neck. He shook Athelstan a little, as though waking him up, before kissing him with intent and promise. Athelstan kissed back with a kind of fierceness of his own, his hands coming up to press at Jarl Ragnar's skin.

 

He needed them; he couldn’t make sense of this without them. Their care humbled him. He wanted to learn how to return such a gift.

 

Jarl Ragnar prolonged the kiss, more than happy to distract Athelstan from the pain that he was refusing to focus on. Athelstan was trying to drown, a soft moan escaping his throat. Jarl Ragnar’s grip on him tightened. It was perfect.

 

Eventually, the touches stopped and Jarl Ragnar pulled back, palming Athelstan’s face, inspecting a mark there with a frown. Athelstan didn’t want to lose his touch. Princess Aslaug offered him his robe. Athelstan hesitated but what else could he wear? He could not imagine dressing like a Viking, not even now.

 

He redressed himself and watched as Princess Aslaug made room for Jarl Lagertha beside him. The two brides linked hands, sharing an expression that Athelstan could not entirely decipher; he imagined it might be love. Jarl Ragnar rested his chin on Athelstan’s shoulder for a moment, kissing Athelstan’s face before rising to his feet.

 

“Your King will speak to me,” he explained, his hand remaining on Athelstan’s shoulder. “And I will speak to him.”

 

It did not sound like a threat but Athelstan imagined it might be. He shivered. Jarl Ragnar wouldn’t hurt King Edwin; he wanted their lands to be allied. But Athelstan had seen how angry Jarl Ragnar had been because of Athelstan’s treatment. Athelstan did not want to be the cause of that bond breaking.

 

“The King did nothing,” Athelstan protested quietly.

 

Jarl Ragnar held his gaze, “Yes.”

 

He ran fingers down Athelstan’s jaw and crossed the room. When he reached the doorway, Jarl Lagertha called out, “Good hunting.”

 

Jarl Ragnar grinned over his shoulder, the heat and promise burning between them. Then he left without another word. Athelstan stared after him, feeling a sudden painful clench of loss. Jarl Lagertha intertwined her arm with his, breaking Athelstan from his spiralling thoughts.

 

She smiled at him, increasing the warmth inside of him to a great degree. “Now we will tell stories, so that lies cannot become traps.”

 

Athelstan looked quizzical but listened as Jarl Lagertha told him of her first husband, a Jarl she had not loved but who had provided for her family while the village Jarl Lagertha had lived in, been born in, had been strengthened by such a marriage. She had secretly taken measures to ensure that she would not bear his children because, she said, she would not tie herself further to him.

 

“I was a good wife,” Jarl Lagertha stated. “Even after I met Ragnar.”

 

They had met when Kattegat had looked to become an ally so a celebration between the two villages was held. Like Jarl Lagertha, Jarl Ragnar had not been a Jarl then. The two of them had lain with each other several times without her husband’s knowledge but had made no promises to one another. It was upon her return to her own village that Jarl Lagertha had realised that she was likely with child, though she thought she had taken her usual measures. She had prayed to the gods and made sacrifices and had ultimately decided to bear Jarl Ragnar’s child. Her husband wanted children, as all men did, and this would not tie her to him, no matter what he believed. It had seemed a gift from the gods.

 

It sounded dangerous to Athelstan, drawn into her story.

 

“But your husband-.” he protested.

 

“Yes,” Jarl Lagertha’s voice was hard. “I bore Björn and my husband believed we were blessed at last. But Björn does not bear his features and during a trade someone in Kattegat told my husband why.”

 

Athelstan remembered what Jarl Lagertha had said when she'd first arrived in Northumberland – that her husband had invaded her. It was the most horrifically suitable word, Athelstan knew that now. He squeezed her arm, she squeezed back. She did not look sorry, only pale and resolute. The warmth that Athelstan felt for her flooded through him. She was astonishing.

 

“I killed my husband,” she continued matter-of-fact. “I became Jarl and then I went back to Kattegat, with Björn. Ragnar had become Jarl and a husband.”

 

Athelstan glanced at Princess Aslaug, she was looking at Jarl Lagertha. He wondered what that time had been like; Jarl Lagertha arriving in Kattegat with Björn, Jarl Ragnar already bound to Princess Aslaug. How had Jarl Ragnar reacted to his son? How had Princess Aslaug reacted to Jarl Lagertha? Why hadn’t Jarl Lagertha had more children? How had Rollo reacted? Was that why he had betrayed his brother?

 

Neither of them offered him explanations. Some things were theirs alone, at least for now. Athelstan did not protest. He thought about asking questions but could not find the words. Did he even have the right to ask?

 

Princess Aslaug smoothed a hand through Jarl Lagertha’s hair and then got to her feet, “Björn still needs his lessons.”

 

Athelstan frowned, pain pushing through him as he replied, “I thought he was...hunting.”

 

Jarl Lagertha’s smile was powerful, “He was. Now he will learn.”

 

She kissed Athelstan, managing to be both gentle and firm. Athelstan felt pleasure heating under his skin and held onto her waist. It was a different kiss to Jarl Ragnar’s, but it meant just as much. He did not want to miss her, to miss any of them. He felt so small but none of them seemed angered or amused by his reactions. They took it as expected.

Athelstan wondered how long he should expect the worry, the need, to last.

 

Jarl Lagertha pulled him to his feet. She didn’t touch his sole arm-band. It was still there, so was the Lord. Athelstan didn’t look at it, just as he didn’t look at the marks that now decorated his body.

 

“I...I would like to see the garden,” he managed quietly, thinking of the soft grass and earth that he had tended so often.

 

His happiest memories there, he realised, were ones containing Ubbe and Hvikserk working alongside him, Princess Aslaug sat watching and Sigurd or Ivar in his arms. Everything before then seemed emptier. Now it seemed to him to threaten a very different kind of drowning. Was that why Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug did not speak completely of their pasts?

 

After a significant pause, he offered the crook of his arm to Princess Aslaug. She smiled almost widely and accepted. Jarl Lagertha did not await a similar offer; she stepped to his side, one hand coming to rest on the sword at her hip. It was a balance, that was what Athelstan felt. He nodded and focused on that.

 

They had done that on purpose, he realised, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug, they’d given him a great deal to think about, to distract him from his own tumultuous situation. He was grateful, all over again.

 

Jarl Lagertha led the way out of Jarl Ragnar’s chambers. Torstein fell into step beside them.

 

“Erik will watch,” he informed Jarl Lagertha, nodding back towards the chamber door.

 

Athelstan silently pondered why; did they expect someone to steal into the chamber? To try and hurt Jarl Ragnar? Yes, Athelstan could imagine that. Would they try to hurt Jarl Ragnar’s brides, their sons? Athelstan shivered, Princess Aslaug stroked his hand. Did they live with such thoughts each day? Her serenity seemed even more amazing now.

 

Athelstan wondered at her strength, at all their strength. Did that come from their gods?

 

Torstein spoke to Jarl Lagertha genially, discussing Floki guarding his boats – he was apparently sure that someone would attempt to steal or destroy them. Torstein also mentioned that Rollo had had a good hunt, but that was all he would say. Athelstan’s heart hammered and he was glad, nodding his gratitude to Torstein who smiled though his eyes stayed serious.

 

People in the stronghold were staring more than usual, especially at Athelstan, as though something would be revealed by looking at him so intently. Athelstan was glad of his robe; it covered almost all of his marks. Princess Aslaug seemed unaffected, she always did. Her grip on him was strong though, Athelstan wondered distantly if it was holding him up. He had chosen the Vikings and some of his people had tried to punish him. The Vikings, even Floki, had not done so. Athelstan almost reached for his arm-band.

 

_My Lord..._

 

He could hear the whispers though; about Princess Aslaug’s witchcraft, her rightfully-damaged children, Jarl Ragnar’s sinful greed, Rollo’s obvious treachery, Athelstan’s punishment. His hands trembled but he walked on. Outside, the sunlight and cool air felt like a blessing.

 

“Athelstan!”

 

Hvikserk ran to throw his arm around as much of Athelstan’s lower-half as possible. Athelstan and Princess Aslaug exchanged a smile and Athelstan dipped a little to accept the boy’s embrace. Hvikserk was warm and bright-eyed and looked as excited by the new day as always. He was another blessing.

 

Amongst several Vikings sparring on the grass, Ubbe was facing Björn who was complimenting his brother’s swordwork and telling him how to improve his grip. There was no sign of Rollo or Jarl Ragnar. There were more of Athelstan’s own people present than usual though, usually it was all Vikings. Had they come to stare now? After what had happened to Athelstan? Athelstan felt anger, why should they stare? Jarl Ragnar’s family were here as allies, as guests. Why should they suffer such scrutiny, such stares and whispers?

 

It wasn’t fair. So much wasn’t.

 

Jarl Lagertha directed them towards a low wooden bench that’d been brought outside. Athelstan sat beside Princess Aslaug, disentangling their arms when Ivar was placed into Princess Aslaug’s lap. Jarl Lagertha stepped into the sparring group, accepting an offered shield and drawing her sword. Björn emerged to sit beside Athelstan, he seemed satisfied and content. Athelstan did not ask, though it felt as though the pain in his body grew as he thought about such questions. How successful had Björn’s hunt with Rollo been?

 

Björn looked at him steadily, “You are well?”

 

Athelstan didn’t answer for a moment, surprised by how complicated such a simple question made him feel. “I hope to be.”

 

Björn nodded. “We hunted, now my father and uncle talk to your King.”

 

Athelstan swallowed. “It was a good hunt?”

 

Björn studied him for a moment and nodded. Athelstan didn’t know what to think, had anyone been killed? Would he be glad for that? Should he worry about further attacks? Should he worry? Björn nudged him, not quite sharply.

 

“You have more to teach me.”

 

He sounded as though he was somewhat waiting to believe this. Athelstan wondered suddenly how Björn had felt upon meeting his father. How had he felt about Princess Aslaug, the woman first married to his father? How had Björn become this man, so placed within this family? Athelstan had been given so many stories already that morning. He was humbled and grateful that so many had been offered to him. What could he offer in return?

 

He began to teach Björn about taxes and tithes. Another distraction. Björn asked questions and shook his head at some aspect that he did not believe logical. Athelstan warmed to the task, this he could do. Sitting with these Vikings, feeling their touch, their interest, strengthening the bond between lands that felt so fragile now, this still felt like his place regardless.

 

_Thank you._

 

He talked and Björn absorbed and learned, as sharply as his father always listened and spoke before the King. Then Ubbe dropped down in front of them, muddy and happy. Athelstan thought that he should like to work the earth again soon; surely someone else had done such work in his absence though. It would be good to feel the earth between his fingers once more. It would be good to do so with Ubbe and Hvikserk.

 

“Will you learn the sword now?” Ubbe wanted to know.

 

Athelstan tried to smile. It was so simple for Ubbe, why would anyone not learn the sword? It likely seemed strange to him that Athelstan didn’t. If Athelstan had had a sword when attacked, would he have been able to fight the men off? To remain so roughly untouched? Or would he have been injured further, or worse? He did not know the Lord’s will in such a matter.

 

He wondered how a sword would feel in his hand, if he would hear the Lord’s voice.

 

Björn moved suddenly and Jarl Ragnar sat down beside Athelstan, his gaze scanning him quickly. Something eased deep inside of Athelstan and he immediately pressed into Jarl Ragnar’s side, seeking out that touch again, that relief. He was so glad to see Jarl Ragnar. Jarl Ragnar smirked a little and pushed himself closer. Athelstan smiled a little in return, he could not help himself, it was a good warm feeling. He needed to ask though.

 

“How was the King?”

 

What had been discussed? Athelstan thought of the brief figures who had grabbed him, their strength of purpose, the pain they had meted out so personally. His hands squeezed into aching fists. He truly did not know what he wanted to hear.

 

“Unhappy with his subjects,” replied Jarl Ragnar. “He has prisoners to blame now.”

 

The hunt really had been successful. Athelstan let out a breath. Whoever they had been, they had been caught and their Lord and King would see to their fates now. Athelstan could do no more, though his thoughts did linger on swords and Vikings and what could be done.

 

He did not ask the Lord for forgiveness, though he did feel regret. For what exactly he could not say.

 

How different things seemed now.

 

There was the touch of cool metal at Athelstan’s wrist. He glanced down in sudden surprise; Jarl Ragnar was offering him an arm-band. It was made of dark burnished metal, skilfully twisted into an incomplete loop. Athelstan stared at it.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s gaze was intent on Athelstan. Athelstan didn’t know how long he looked at it before he managed to raise his head to look at Jarl Ragnar, his eyes wide, his heart running fast.

 

“What is...what does it mean?”

 

Jarl Ragnar smiled slightly and wrapped his free hand around Athelstan’s bare wrist, “Protection, a new vow.”

 

Athelstan stared at him. A new vow. “To you?”

 

“To us,” Princess Aslaug corrected, looking almost reprovingly, challengingly, at her husband before she looked properly at Athelstan.

 

To them. Athelstan looked at the arm-band again. It was not what he was used to. He glanced at the other Vikings; did he need protection from them? In his heart, he had already chosen Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug. He already felt safe and protected with them.

 

_Thank you, Lord._

 

Could that feeling end? As it had ended for Athelstan amongst his own people? He felt warmer and yet he still felt the cold too. He pushed his wrist towards Jarl Ragnar, whose answering smile was sudden and pleased, possessive even, causing the warmth inside of Athelstan to rise. Jarl Ragnar placed the arm-band around Athelstan’s empty wrist and covered the metal with his own fingers. The Lord was still doing much good amongst the pain that Athelstan suffered. He did not know how to untangle it, to make it less of a painful resentful angry thought.

 

 

Bj ö rn made his way into the group of sparring Vikings to join his mother. Jarl Lagertha felled her opponent and pointed her blade at their throat. 


	10. Some Small Blessing

 

 

 

Athelstan expected the summons. Björn accompanied him, people stared and Athelstan was pleased by Björn’s company. He listened to Athelstan, even if he preferred always to fight. Jarl Ragnar and Jarl Lagertha were such but they also seemed to know how important words could be too.

 

At the entrance to one of smaller halls, Björn turned to Athelstan with a serious expression, “Don’t take any more shit.”

 

Athelstan was shocked into a laugh and entered the hall. He needed to do this; the Holy Father had summoned him. Athelstan breathed out, he still wore a Brotherhood arm-band, he still wore his robes.

 

The Holy Father was striking flint in order to spark a flame. He lit two candles without comment and then knelt before the altar to pray. Athelstan didn’t join him, his mouth drawn down tightly and his hands curled together.

 

_I can’t, Lord_

 

The Holy Father didn’t look surprised and he didn’t order Athelstan to kneel. He finished his prayers and then stood, his gaze examining Athelstan carefully. Athelstan wondered what he saw; did he see what had driven some of the Brothers to ignore him? Athelstan had felt their judgement, his own people, his Brothers. The marks on his skin still hurt.

 

“It’s good to see you, Brother Athelstan.”

 

Something relaxed inside of Athelstan. The Holy Father had been a constant in his life for so long; Athelstan didn't want to lose him, no matter how much pain he now felt towards their Lord. Athelstan was glad to know that the bond between them apparently would not change.

 

“Thank you, Holy Father.”

 

The Holy Father nodded towards the Viking arm-band that Athelstan now wore, “Your vows have changed, I see.”

 

Athelstan smiled unbidden, thinking of Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug and how much they settled him, what an overwhelming gift they were. He had been blessed. Sometimes he wondered who by. He didn’t always regret that thought.

 

He briefly held up his other wrist, displaying his remaining engraved Brotherhood arm-band, “Some haven’t.”

 

The Holy Father smiled and nodded, pleased. But his expression faded in the following silence. Athelstan wondered what he was thinking of. The air felt heavy and he stared at the candle flames, watching their wispy movements.

 

“You haven’t attended services recently.”

 

Athelstan’s expression tensed. He looked up to the Holy Father, “I don't believe I'm welcome, not by everyone.”

 

The Holy Father looked at him reprovingly “The Lord will always welcome you.”

 

“The Lord...” Athelstan broke off with a sigh. “I am grateful for His blessings and provision but what I have suffered has been because of His will.”

 

“Our people are now bound to the Vikings; Northumberland will grow even greater in the sight of the Lord. You made that possible, Athelstan, you were chosen for such a great purpose.”

 

Athelstan shook his head, his hands trembling, “And I am glad to do it. But Father, _why_ was it formedin such a way?”

 

His voice broke. The question had been burning inside of him for many days. Why hadn’t the Lord used some other method to see His plans through? Why had Athelstan’s vows been so tainted? Why had he had to suffer such deep abiding pain? It was pain that he was unsure he would ever be rid of. He had always been prepared to suffer for the Lord and for his King, he hadn’t truly realised what price would be asked of him though or how it would affect him.

 

“The traitors have been revealed, the Lord has made sure of that, and now you will carry His name across the sea.”

 

The Holy Father’s eyes were sad though and almost pitying. Athelstan found himself leaning back, ready to move if he had to. The Holy Father did not touch him; perhaps the Viking arm-band deterred him.

 

“You are still the Lord’s child, Athelstan. Sometimes it is only through pain that such important aims are achieved. It has always been the way of the Lord.”

 

It had. Athelstan had always known that and yet he could not shake his feelings of anger and pain. He had achieved a great deal but he was also deeply scarred and deeply changed. The marks on his skin would fade, yet Athelstan felt as though he would always be carrying them.

 

“The Brothers don’t all hold to that,” he said softly.

 

The Holy Father sighed, “We all strive for the Lord and we all stumble. They know you have done a great deal for the Lord and King Edwin.”

 

Athelstan did not feel so hopeful; he had experienced how some of his Brothers now looked at him. They looked scornful, as though he should be ashamed, as though whatever had tainted him might affect them too. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, some of his Brothers still looked in such a way towards the Vikings and frequently whispered about them. Athelstan was still hurt though; these were his Brothers after all.

 

“The Lord provided for you, Athelstan. Now you will repay Him by bringing His name to Jarl Ragnar’s people.”

 

The Lord had provided. Athelstan thought of the stories he had heard from the Vikings, Floki told them best, his eyes alive, his words painting such pictures – of Odin and his brothers forming the world and its first people, Frigg and her handmaidens, Thor’s mighty hammer and Loki’s tricks, Freyja dressed in falcon feathers, how the world burned but rose again and always of Valhalla. In such stories, Athelstan heard echoes of teachings he had learned his entire life and yet there was more too, more that spoke to him and defined those that he now held dear.

 

He still sometimes spoke to the Lord, though never as frequently as before, but he also found himself listening to other stories now too.

 

He looked at the Holy Father and did not speak.

 

When Athelstan left the hall, he found Björn waiting for him.

 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

 

Björn raised his eyebrows, looking very much like his mother, and nudged Athelstan sharply, “But I did.”

 

*

 

That night, Jarl Lagertha stretched out on top of Athelstan, kissing him with conviction. Athelstan’s hands rested at the small of her back, occasionally trembling. The feel of her body against his was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

 

“Watch,” Jarl Lagertha told him.

 

Jarl Ragnar was undressing. He peeled away layers of clothing until he was naked and utterly unashamed. His eyes were hungry as he helped Princess Aslaug undress also. Athelstan coloured, averting his eyes from the beautiful compelling sight of Princess Aslaug's lush curves, her wavy unbraided hair flowing, her eyes glittering. Jarl Lagertha bit Athestan's lower lip hard enough to sting, his gaze darted up immediately.

 

“ _Watch.”_

 

Her tone and gaze were commanding but there was a gentleness to how her fingers tangled in Athelstan's curling hair. Athelstan took several deep breaths. For all his engrained shyness, he was drawn to the idea of seeing Jarl Ragnar and Princess Aslaug together, of learning more. He wanted to look and his vows had changed.

 

There was a soft wet sound, then the slide of skin on skin. Athelstan glanced up and was treated to the sight of Princess Aslaug astride a seated Jarl Ragnar. They moved together, their gazes meeting before turning frequently towards Athelstan and Jarl Lagertha. They were lit gold by the candlelight. Athelstan's hips shifted, finding quiet purchase against Jarl Lagertha who pressed back, her mouth sporadically touching his, nothing more.

 

His fear and concern fading for now, Athelstan watched, breathless and caught in the endless ebb and flow of the now-familiar addictive current.

 

*

 

Time seemed to slow after that. Athelstan had little time left in Northumberland. He spent much time in the garden, working the earth with Ubbe and Hvikserk, teaching them more about the plants they might find there. They taught him more about Kattegat, about the taste of the sea, the way that Floki built his clever ships, the sacrifices and festivals that took place, the home that Athelstan would soon become part of.

 

Athelstan smiled quietly and glanced at the Viking arm-band that he wore so close to his skin.

 

He was more aware than ever of the stares from his own people, the way so many of his Brothers turned away. The whispers were only growing.

 

People whispered about Rollo too, accusing him of so much. Rollo glared at all who caught his ear, few warriors were willing to challenge him, to test their skill against his, and any who did were soon defeated. The Vikings would cheer and Athelstan would applaud. He still didn’t know what to say to Rollo, Jarl Ragnar’s brother didn’t appear to want any gratitude.

 

Athelstan still chose to wait for him in the stronghold's courtyard one day. Rollo had gone to speak to Jarl Lagertha's warriors who had set up camp away from the stronghold; it was where he was most often found now. When he saw Athelstan waiting for him, he didn’t look angry. He looked at Athelstan expectantly instead.

 

“My brother sent you?” he stated as though awaiting orders.

 

“No, no, I...I wanted to thank you,” Athelstan managed to reply.

 

Rollo was a tall intimidating figure, not appearing to feel the cold in a rough thin shirt and breeches. He looked at Athelstan flatly, every inch the man that so many whispers said he was. But Jarl Ragnar trusted Rollo, and Rollo had saved Athelstan.

 

Rollo began to walk into the stronghold, Athelstan kept pace beside him. People were whispering again, staring at Athelstan, at Rollo. Rollo seemed unaffected but how could he be? Why did he suffer so? Why did he make sure he did by speaking to those who seemed so against Jarl Ragnar and all other Vikings? Was he being punished for betraying his brother?

 

“I have heard worse, priest.”

 

Athelstan started; had he spoken aloud? But Rollo was sliding his gaze towards the people scattered throughout the stronghold. He also sounded vaguely amused, as though the idea of those people’s opinions hurting him was laughable. Maybe it was.

 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Athelstan replied, almost firmly.

 

Rollo looked a little surprised and his mouth quirked upwards. When they reached a quieter area, beside a window that revealed a lot of Northumberland’s damp landscape, Rollo paused. He looked at Athelstan with more spirited eyes.

 

“My friends are still not yet my friends again; I deserve that for what I did. Now, my brother uses my known foolishness against those who would strike us down.”

 

Using it...Rollo had been pretending to be intent on his brother’s demise while in Northumberland? To discover who was set against the Vikings perhaps, because greedy angry men were likely to speak to one known for such feelings.

 

It was a heavy burden to bear, especially when his friends still hadn’t all forgiven him for his past actions. Athelstan nodded at Rollo as though he understood. Rollo examined him and smiled ever so slightly. Perhaps it was a weight from his that someone else knew the truth of his behaviour. Athelstan was glad to help. Part of him would always seek to do the Lord’s work. He didn’t think he wanted to entirely lose that yet.

 

“Come on, priest.” Rollo was already walking away, clearly expecting Athelstan to follow. “My brother expects you.”

 

The air through the windows was cold, Athelstan wondered how much colder it would be in Kattegat and how much warmer he would feel beside his husband and wives. Such a thought made his breath catch hard. Athelstan hurried to catch up.

 

*

 

Jarl Ragnar was amused when the Holy Father continued to push for a blessing for the marriage to take place in Northumberland. Floki exclaimed something that Athelstan did not translate; he did not flinch as much as he would have done once, even when Floki’s anger was turned towards him.

 

“Is your god willing to share?”

 

There was laughter from the Vikings. Athelstan did not even smile. Would the King refuse the bonding if the Lord was not honoured? Athelstan could not bear such a thought. Those around the King still hummed with the anger and disapproval that Athelstan was too used to seeing now. The King did not, not yet.

 

“Is yours?”

 

There was a murmur of discontent, then the King continued, “A union should be blessed. The marriage itself will take place before your gods. Allow us to honour ours and the bond between our lands. It is such a small thing.”

 

Jarl Ragnar and the King held each other’s gazes. Princess Aslaug whispered something in her husband’s ear; Jarl Lagertha studied the faces of the King’s advisors. Athelstan held his breath.

 

_Please._

 

Jarl Ragar smiled suddenly, sardonic and richly amused, “A small blessing then, for a small god.”

 

That disapproving hum grew again, as did the Vikings’ laughter and shouts, but King Edwin nodded. It had been a moment of politics, a moment that could have cut and bled so much. Athelstan let out a breath. He felt the King’s gaze swing towards him.

 

“I would speak to you, Brother Athelstan.”

 

Athelstan nodded quickly, taken aback, his heart thumping. The King knew him now and wished to speak with him. Princess Aslaug, who sat close by, squeezed his hand. Athelstan bowed his head respectfully towards her and caught Jarl Ragnar’s eye, a moment of that clear focused gaze, before the hall emptied, leaving Athelstan with the Holy Father, an advisor or two, and the King himself.

 

Athelstan held himself as still as possible, his head bowed. The King was studying him silently before he spoke.

 

“So you are to be the Lord’s voice in the savage lands.”

 

Athelstan’s head twitched, “Yes, Highness.”

 

“Do you believe Jarl Ragnar will listen to you?”

 

Athelstan flicked his gaze upwards; the sparse group were all watching him closely. He could not tell them that Jarl Ragnar would never accept any god but his own. Athelstan was very aware of the cool metal that rested around both his wrists, he was also aware of what he could now say to vividly remind the King of how a Brother amongst Vikings could bring many great blessings for Northumberland. No lies, only possibilities. He could not lose Jarl Ragnar and his family, he _couldn't_. The marks across his body still hurt.

 

“Jarl Ragnar will listen but he will not accept the Lord. But perhaps the Lord had placed me there to speak to others, to those who will rule after Jarl Ragnar.”

 

King Edwin’s expression became contemplative, “The children. You have been teaching them?”

 

“Every day, about the Lord and the land and people that He blesses.”

 

The Holy Father looked pleased, even one of the King’s advisers seemed approving. The King himself did not look angry. He nodded slowly.

 

“The Lord looks ever forward. We give him the sacrifice of a Brother and he grants us a stronger victorious future.” The King focused again on Athelstan. “Be His voice, Brother Athelstan, see your sacrifice flourish in His name and Northumberland will grow to greater glory.”

 

It was a royal command. Athelstan bowed deeply and, catching sight of the Holy Father signalling his dismissal, left the hall. Torstein was waiting for him beyond the doors. He looked Athelstan over and led the way back to Jarl Ragnar's chambers.

 

“Receiving a small blessing, priest?”

 

Torstein was teasing him. Athelstan sent him a quick smile. “Why, have you need of one?”

 

Torstein laughed and shoved him towards the chamber where the others awaited him.

 

*

 

Athelstan scooped up a measure of Northumberland earth and secured it in a purse. He glanced around the garden, thinking about how much he had sweated there, how much he had gladly toiled, how he had taught Ubbe and Hvikserk and talked to Princess Aslaug.

 

He touched the leafy herbs and plants he had long cultivated. He thanked the Lord for such a blessing.

 

*

 

That night, Athelstan spent some hours in his old room. It had always been solace for him, a sanctuary. It was silent and empty. He sat on the thin pallet he had been afforded and pressed a hand to the cold stone wall that he had often hidden his face against as he’d contemplated Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug.

 

He had sought answers and the Lord had provided them, even if they hadn’t appeared in any form that Athelstan had expected or always enjoyed. His chest twinged, he pressed curled fingers to it.

 

He lay down on the pallet and stared up at the familiar ceiling. The Lord had provided bounteously, He had furthered His own glory and blessed Northumberland. And yet the Lord had ensured Athelstan’s suffering as much as his rescue from it. It was a grievously unhealed wound.

 

“Thank you, Lord, for the binding with the Vikings. Thank you for allowing me to speak Your words to them and their children. Thank you for bringing me into this river.”

 

Athelstan touched first his Brotherhood arm-band, then his Viking one. He lay there for some time, silently counting the marks his body now bore, the years of fruitful service he had given to the Lord and King, how much he was going to miss the stronghold. But he realised, it was the place he would miss, not so many of the people, not since he had heard so many whispers and so much scorn about the Vikings, about those he now so cared for. It turned his heart even now.

 

Eventually, trailing a hand across the nearest stone wall, he left the room, unsurprised to find a Viking walking close behind him. He reached Jarl Ragnar’s chambers and made straight for where Princess Aslaug was sitting, weaving a braid into Jarl Lagertha's hair. Princess Aslaug looked at him and wordlessly cleared a space for him beside her. Athelstan sat down, dropped his head to her shoulder and watched her fingers work.


	11. Becoming

 

 

 

The day was cool and dark blue. The mists had cleared from the water as Jarl Lagertha's men and shieldmaidens packed up their encampment and marched down to where Floki's boats awaited them. They were cheerful and ready to leave, to go home once more.

 

Athelstan stared at the boats. They were large and curved in a way that he hadn't encountered before. He could see Floki's wicked eye in their shape though and in the way they moved even tethered at the shore. He watched Floki himself, dark of gaze and loving of hand movement as he seemed to talk to his boats, stroking their lines. The other Vikings seemed quite used to it, to the shipwright who made each boat himself, who called them forth from the very trees, so Athelstan had been told.

 

He could believe it.

 

Ubbe tugged at Athelstan's robe, he was carrying a thick fur that nearly reached the top of his head, “Mother says you will be cold on the water.”

 

Athelstan smiled and accepted the fur, trying to work out how best to wrap it around his shoulders. Jarl Lagertha appeared beside him, dressed in layers of wool and thick leather that were fastened with brass rings and cords, her hair fashioned in knotted loops and her countenance somehow clearer now, relaxed in a way that it hadn't been before. Björn appeared beside her and Jarl Lagertha rested a hand on his shoulder, a reassurance perhaps. Athelstan had not thought to ask yet how Jarl Lagertha ruled her people while also being wife to Jarl Ragnar and Princess Aslaug. Did she possess two homes? Had she brought her people to Kattegat? There was so much that Athelstan hadn't asked.

 

“Here.”

 

Jar Lagertha took hold of the fur and wrapped it neatly about Athelstan's shoulders and chest before securing it with a thick heavy broach. Athelstan touched the jewellery, it almost matched his arm-bands.

 

He dipped his head gratefully, “Thank you.”

 

His words were for so much more than just the fur. Jarl Lagertha smiled, a warm ease to her expression that made a sensation in Athelstan's chest hitch. Jarl Lagertha pressed a hand meaningfully to his cheek, as though pressing some knowledge into him too. Then she turned towards the ships, to where Floki hung from the bow of one, checking something apparently, though Athelstan could hear him singing too.

 

“Today you leave.” Jarl Ragnar was able to walk without aid though he still tucked an arm possessively around Athelstan as he reached the family cluster, his head swooping down to Athelstan's nearest ear. “And truly become ours.”

 

Athelstan shivered, Jarl Ragnar nipped at Athelstan's neck causing Athelstan to shiver even more. Jarl Lagertha looked amused though there was a kindling heat in her gaze too. Björn just shook his head.

 

“Our father wishes to collect a bride from every land he touches,” he told Ubbe.

 

Jarl Ragnar laughed, “Perhaps now I will collect for you now, to keep you warm at night and best you with a sword, again.”

 

There was a story there but Björn just snorted, clearly not agreeing with his father. Athelstan hoped to hear more, always he wanted to learn and hear more, but then he heard his name being called out. He was being summoned back to the stronghold, for a blessing.

 

Jarl Ragnar kissed his neck again; Athelstan sighed and turned to the man who would soon become his husband. Husband and wives. Jarl Ragnar, Jarl Lagertha and Princess Aslaug who hadn't made his expression twist or his body hurt. Instead, they never stopped touching him and he continued to watch.

 

He linked his fingers with Jarl Ragnar's and, feeling a warm heady grateful rush, lifted their joined hands so that he could kiss Jarl Ragnar's. Jarl Ragnar looked pleasantly surprised and extremely pleased.

 

“Your own small blessing,” Athelstan told him.

 

He leaned away to accept Jarl Lagertha’s kiss – because her kisses always ignited his determination – and then headed off, back towards his Brothers, the sound of Jarl Ragnar's laughter ringing wonderfully in his ears.

 

*

 

The blessing did not take long. The Holy Father spoke familiar words, Athelstan stood before him and received them, his head bowed, his eyes closed. He was surrounded by his Brothers though he was quite sure that many of them weren’t praying for him to be blessed. He felt a pang of deep sadness and disquiet; he would always be grateful to the Brotherhood for how they had nurtured and shaped him, for the path they had set him on, for the family they had been to him.

 

But he could not help feeling pained and angry as so many of them now looked at him in such a different derisive way, the same way that they regarded and talked of the Vikings, Princess Aslaug and her children, Jarl Lagertha’s attitude, and Jarl Ragnar and the stories that surrounded him. Why could they not see past it, as Athelstan had? Surely Athelstan was not the only Brother to have ever sought out such a river?

 

The blessing ended with the Holy Father pressing his hands to Athelstan’s shoulders before folding his hands together.

 

“Go forth for the Lord.”

 

Athelstan rubbed a thumb against his Brotherhood arm-band. He could still feel the Lord’s presence. He stepped forward to extinguish a candle and light another, as was the tradition. A great sadness and concern welled up inside of him; he would be leaving such a familiar place for somewhere so unknown, a place where he might not be wholly accepted. He thought about the stories the Vikings had told him of Kattegat, of wintery cold and blood spilled upon the ground.

 

He thought about the Vikings, _his_ Vikings.

 

And blew the candle out.

 

*

 

Athelstan could feel many eyes upon him. He had said goodbye to the Brothers who had wished him well and had said that they would keep him in their prayers forever after. Several seemed to believe that he was sailing to his death; others who did not speak to him appeared to wish that that was the case.

 

Aboard one of the boats, Athelstan sat beside Princess Aslaug and cradled Ivar in his arms. Hvikserk and Ubbe sat in another boat with their uncle and brother. Jarl Lagertha commanded the third boat. Athelstan closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in the Northumberland air. He wanted to fill his lungs and remember. Some things were worth holding onto.

 

Jarl Ragnar sat at the front of the boat, a raven perched on his shoulder. Floki directed the ship’s movement, blessings and guidance were asked for from the gods. Athelstan stayed quiet.

 

_Keep us safe._

 

“There is life for you out here.”

 

Princess Aslaug sounded so sure. Athelstan smiled slightly at her, “The gods told you that?”

 

Princess Aslaug’s smile was serene and comforting. Athelstan leaned against her and gazed at the shore as it began to move away from them, soon becoming a merging of green and brown. The Lord’s blessed land.

 

Athelstan’s home, or it had been.

 

Jarl Ragnar’s hand gripped Athelstan’s thigh. Athelstan could still feel the weight of his arm-bands and the river pulling him along. His eyes didn’t leave Northumberland.

 

“I hope they did.”


	12. Epilogue

 

 

 

Ethelred approached Kattegat, signalling to the two Brothers, Michael and Nicholas, that they should stay behind him. He had been commanded by King Edwin himself to see the two Brothers safely through their mission; they had stopped at many villages and had frequently been laughed at and chased out. That was to be expected; during his visit to Northumberland many months ago Brother Athelstan had warned the Brotherhood that their message would not be joyfully received across the water. He had not said that they should not come at all though.

 

Brother Athelstan, it was said, was tainted, marked by what he had experienced among the savage Vikings. Ethelred only knew that he was to go to Kattegat, to where the Holy Father had claimed the Lord wished them to be. Ethelred wished to honour his King above all else and his Lord so he did as he was bid. A couple of his fellow warriors waited back at where they’d made camp as Ethelred guarded the Brothers on their way that day. He would die before he saw them harmed; it was as the Lord wanted.

 

There was a Norse shout and two warriors, clad in the now-familiar Viking clothing, stepped into Ethelred’s path. He heard Brother Nicholas pray quietly with shaking voice. Ethelred’s sword had been drawn since the moment they’d begun walking away from their encampment. He held it before him now, his other arm spread to block the Brothers from harm.

 

“We seek Brother Athelstan,” Ethelred stated tersely, his body tense and ready.

 

The Vikings spoke to one another, gesturing towards the visitors until one called over his shoulder. A small boy with red hair and freckles ran up, causing a discussion to begin. Brother Athelstan’s name was mentioned and the boy ran off again.

 

Ethelred did not lower his guard; the Brothers behind him did not cease praying. They had faced such hard welcomes before. It was not long before a tall rangy young man appeared, fair-haired and armed. He looked at the group and appeared amused.

 

Then he spoke words that Ethelred recognised, even through the thick Viking accent, “You bring greetings to Athelstan? From Northumberland?”

 

Ethelred nodded. The stranger smiled slightly, it was almost a smirk. Ethelred did not trust it.

 

“Then you are welcome.”

 

He said something quickly to the guards who lowered their weapons. The stranger gestured for the visitors to follow him.

 

“Come.”

 

Ethelred could feel the guards watching as he left, ensuring the Brothers were close behind him. The stranger did not appear unfriendly though.

 

“I am Björn, son of Jarl Ragnar Lothbrok. You will not find many who speak your language here.”

 

“Brother Athelstan has not taught you?” asked Brother Michael.

 

Björn sent a brief amused look over his shoulder, “Brother Athelstan does not need to. He speaks our words.”

 

“But he taught you?” Brother Nicholas pointed out quietly.

 

“My father was taught by missionaries like you and he taught his sons, he believes in understanding those who would trade and ally with us.”

 

They were now approaching a large mess of huts and there were many people working fields beyond them as well as some drawing water from wells, working as blacksmiths and metalsmiths, and practising with weapons. Brothers Michael and Nicholas watched it all with wide eyes. Ethelred looked for sentries, guards and those that would butcher them. It was his calling.

 

Björn led the way into the largest building, there was a crowd gathered inside and on an elevated platform were positioned three chairs. Jarl Ragnar sat in the middle, beside him was his first bride Princess Aslaug, as beautiful and implacable as Ethelred remembered. He felt her eyes on him and sent a quick hard prayer to the Lord – he had no wish to carry any enchantments back to his King.

 

A toddler was sat on Princess Aslaug’s lap; one of his eyes immediately caught Ethelred’s attention. This was one of the cursed children. He could hear the Brothers pray more in earnest. He wondered where the other cursed child was, the one doomed not to walk.

 

Björn pushed through the crowd, which soon parted for him anyway, and stood before his father. Ethelred could spy Brother Athelstan, stood a pace behind Jarl Ragnar, in conversation with a small boy. Brother Athelstan wasn’t wearing his Brotherhood robe, now he wore breeches and a shirt like a Viking. A cloak was pinned around his shoulders and there was something that looked like a blade at his hip. He was bearded and his hair had grown longer with beads and metal pieces woven through it.

 

The Holy Father had claimed that Brother Athelstan was doing important work and that Brothers Michael and Nicholas were to help guide and strengthen it.

 

Ethelred prayed silently.

 

“Visitors from Northumberland.”

 

Björn said something else in Norse and then beckoned Ethelred forward. There was a murmur amongst the crowd and Brother Athelstan turned sharply towards them. He smiled but there was something guarded about his eyes too. Jarl Ragnar smiled slowly as he eyed the Brothers. Ethelred held himself ready, hit by the urge to stand in front of his holy charges. They were not to be harmed.

 

Brother Athelstan bent his head and whispered something to his husband. Jarl Ragnar did not take his eyes from the visitors but reached an arm back to hold Brother Athelstan. The small boy burbled something Norse which made Brother Athelstan smile and nod.

 

“It is true, he is ruined,” murmured Brother Nicholas, his voice horrified.

 

Princess Aslaug met Brother Athelstan’s gaze, they wore similar small smiles. There was a scar across Brother Athelstan’s neck, Ethelred noted, and something was painted across his hands, a pattern of some kind.

 

“Who are you?” asked Jarl Ragnar.

 

Ethelred took the lead, “I am Ethelred, commanded by King Edwin of Northumberland to bring these Brothers here to speak of the Lord and extend Brother Athelstan’s mission.”

 

Jarl Ragnar looked amused now but his eyes were narrowing. Ethelred was only repeating what he had been commanded to say. A few voices in the crowd whispered. Jarl Ragnar tipped his head towards Brother Athelstan.

 

“Your mission?”

 

“My mission has always been to bind our lands together,” Brother Athelstan replied, clear and strong.

 

He then said something in Norse and gained laughter and what could have been agreement. What had Brother Athelstan said? Jarl Ragnar chuckled and squeezed a hand to Brother Athelstan’s wrist. Ethelred was aware of how close the doorway was, how many people surrounded him, how easily he could swing his sword.

 

Brother Athelstan looked down at the two Brothers, his expression friendly and warmer, “We will speak of the Lord. I am sure the Holy Father has sent you with much to say to me.”

 

Björn added something in Norse which got even more laughter and a reproachful smile from Brother Athelstan. Another small boy rushed through the crowd at that point and tugged at Björn’s shirt; Björn leaned down to listen and nodded at whatever he was told. He patted the boy on the back and answered him quickly. The boy looked serious and disappeared as rapidly as he’d arrived.

 

“We feast tonight for Lagertha’s return,” Princess Aslaug spoke. “Now it will be a welcome for our guests also.”

 

She inclined her head towards them with a slight smile. The Brothers murmured blessed wards to each other. Ethelred did not bow, she was not his royalty. He had heard of the dark powers that she had been granted, the sorcery she partook in. Her children bore her punishment, her husband’s triumphs were tainted. Yet he remained an ally to King Edwin.

 

“We owed Jarl Ragnar once,” King Edwin had commented. “The Lord uses him for Northumberland’s gain. His children will be shaped by the Lord; they will lift this land even higher.”

 

Ethelred looked at Björn, at the children on the elevated platform. Brother Athelstan was to have taught them of the Lord as he had taught them Northumberland’s language. No doubt he had taught them with words, rather than fists and swords.

 

“Some tried without words to ensure that Brother Athelstan held fast to the Lord when his binding to Jarl Ragnar was announced,” the Holy Father had recounted. “It is done differently now.”

 

Jarl Ragnar nodded at his wife’s words, “So you and your god will feast tonight.”

 

It sounded like a challenge. There was a cheer from the crowd and Jarl Ragnar kissed Brother Athelstan’s hand. It caused Brother Athelstan to smile as though the gesture held a pleasing secret. The small boy grabbed his attention then so Brother Athelstan concentrated on him instead. Ethelred focused on Brother Athelstan, he was still wearing a Brotherhood arm-band. Surely he had not truly forsaken the Lord?

 

Ethelred’s grasp tightened around the hilt of his sword. Any who forsook the Lord were to feel the Lord’s wrath. But Brother Athelstan linked the two lands; he enabled Northumberland to grow in glory. He was being used by the Lord for great things.

 

Michael and Nicholas were looking around, no doubt looking for signs of the Lord’s presence or absence. Brother Athelstan descended from the platform to address them.

 

“I am eager to speak of the Lord with you. Come, there is room enough for us to do so away from these crowds.”

 

“You do not speak such prayers publicly?” Ethelred wanted to know.

 

Brother Athelstan looked only mildly surprised at such an admonishment, though Björn frowned.

 

“I will not dishonour their gods, not when my husband gives me leave to honour mine.”

 

He clasped Björn’s forearm and murmured something in Norse which caused Björn to nod his head. It could have been a prayer, the rhythm if not the words was familiar. So why did he not pray in his true tongue? Brother Athelstan nodded back and then led the way out of the large structure. Many of the crowd looked scornful and spat, Brother Athelstan did not flinch.

 

Ethelred knew they were being followed; Brother Athelstan looked surprised at his protests at such.

 

“You are strangers and you talk of a god most here do not recognise.”

 

Most, not all? Brothers Michael and Nicholas had many questions and fell over each other to ask them once they’d all entered a small empty hut. Ethelred watched and listened as Brother Athelstan answered them easily and prayed with them simply, not truly saying a great deal. His gestures were genuine enough though; he lit a candle at the correct point and joined in with the Brothers' communal words.

 

Ethelred wondered how many watched this hut and just what they planned on doing.

 

There was a bird call from outside which made Brother Athelstan smile. Ethelred kept a hand to his sword and watched him closely. Brother Athelstan met his gaze well. How much could a Brother be changed by witchcraft and misleading touch? Yet the Holy Father had been sure of Brother Athelstan’s faith and vows. Ethelred could only see the troubling mix of how Brother Athelstan had touched his husband, how he had prayed to the Lord, the two differing arm-bands that Brother Athelstan wore and the blade that was still strapped to his hip. What had he become? As though he had heard such a question, Brother Athelstan smiled.

 

_-the end_


End file.
